•  •  -THE  •  •  • 
NEW-ENGLAND 

(OUNTRY,: 


/ 


WRITTEN-AND-ILLU5TRATED 
!BY- CLIFTON -JOHNSON 


* 


THE 

NEW    ENGLAND 
COUNTRY 


TEXT  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 
BY    CLIFTON    JOHNSON 


BOSTON    LEE  AND  SHEPARD 
PUBLISHERS    MDCCCXCVII 


COPYRIGHT.     iSya.    I;Y    CI.IFTON     JOHNSON 


Tilt      XtW      E.NOLANI)      C'lK  NTKY 


PBESS   OF 

li    anH    Churchill 

BOSTON 


CONTENTS 


PART    I 

PAGE 

OLD    TIMES    ox    A    NEW    ENGLAND    FARM  i 


PART    II 
THE    NEW    ENGLAND    OF    TO-DAY    .  34 

PART    III 
NEW    ENGLAND    AS    THE    TRAVELLER    SEES    IT  57 

PART    IV 
CAMPING    AMONG   THE    NEW    ENGLAND    HILLS  82 

V 


2081395 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

JANUARY       .  .........    Frontispiece 

OLD  FIREPLACE  .  .......  i 

A    FOOT-STOVE    .  ........       i 

CANES   AND   UMBRELLAS       .........       i 

THE   CHURN        ...........       2 

YE    ENTRANCE   OF    OLD    FASHION 2 

FARM    TOOLS       ...........       2 

A    LOOM 3 

FANS   AND    BACK-COMB        .........       3 

OLD   CHAIRS       ...........       3 

ONE   OF   THE   OLD    HOUSES         ........       4 

A   SILHOUETTE    PORTRAIT     .........       5 

A    RIVER-BOAT    BEFORE   THE    DAYS    OF   RAILROADS       ....       5 

REELS         ............       6 

A    COMFORTABLE    FARM-HOUSE     ........       6 

THE    FLAX-WHEEL       .         .         .         .         .         .  ...         .6 

FEBRUARY  ............       7 

KITCHEN   UTENSILS      .  ........       Q 

GOURDS   AND   PIGGINS          .........       9 

THE   WINDING    ROADWAY     .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .10 

A    MlLL- YARD   IN   THE   VALLEY  .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .II 

A    SUNNY    GLEN          .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .11 

A    QUIET   DAY 12 

A   BARN-DOOR   GROUP         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         -13 

A   TURN   IN   THE   ROAD      .......  14 

A    COUNTRY   STAGE   COACH    IN    WINTER       .         .         .         .         .         -14 

A   HILLTOP  VILLAGE .     15 

A    LITTLE    LAKE          .  .....  .16 

A   VILLAGE   SCENE       .  .  .  17 

vii 


LIST    Ol:    ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

SXOW-FIF.I.DS     i  >\     THK      HlI.LS  .  .  iS 

MARCH         .  .  .19 

CLEARED    I,AX1>  .          .  .  21 

G.YI  HF.KIXG    SAP    IX    THK    SUGAR    ORCHARD   .  .  22 

WAVSIDK    BERRY-PICKERS      .  .  23 

A    FARM    AMID    THK    BIG    HII.I.S  ...  24 

A    LITTLE    HO.MK    ox    THK    HII.I.SIDK    ...  25 

Ax    ()I,D    Mil. i.  ....  25 

A    SAW-MILL        .......  ...      26 

A    SPRIXG    MORXIXC    .          .          .          .  .          .          .          .          .          .27 

A    WILLOW-LINED    RIYKR      .........     28 

APRIL  .....  .  ,29 

A   LOOK  DOWX  ox  THK  CONNECTICUT.         ...  31 

THK    SPRIXI;    HOEIXG  .....  .  -32 

Ax    (  )I.D    TAVKRX      '  .  .          .  .  •          •     33 

THK    FRIKXDI.V    GUIDE  .  .     34 

A    HILL    Towx  .......  .          .     34 

THK    BACK    SHKDS        ..........     35 

WIXTKR    T\VILK;HT  —  GOING   UP    FOR    OXF.    MORF.    SLIDK         .          .          -36 
A    HILL-TOWX   VILLA(;K       .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .          -37 

HOMES   AND    OUT— BUILDINGS    iiv    THF.  WAYSIDE     .          .          .  38 

XFAV    ENGLAND    ROCKS         .          .          .          .          .          .         .          .          -39 

HOLDIXT;  THE   HORSES  WHILE    HIS    FATHER  GOES    IN   TO    GET   A    DRINK 

OF    WATER  .......  .40 

MAY .41 

A    DAM    ON    THE    CONNECTICUT   ......  -43 

AT   THE    RAILROAD    STATION         ........     43 

A    MAXUFACTURIXG    VILLAGE          ........     44 

THE    RAILWAY-CROSSING    IN    THE   VILLAGE  .         .         .         .         .         -45 

A    STONE    BRIDGE        ..........     46 

A    GROUP   OF    LITTLE    FISHERMEN         .         .          .          .          .         .          -47 

A    WAYSIDE   WATERING-TROUGH    .....  .48 

A   COUNTRY   SCHOOL   WATCHING   A   TEAM    GO    I:Y          .  .         .     48 

AN   OLD    BURVTNG-GROUND  ....  -49 

BELOW   THE    DAM .  .50 

A   MASSACHUSETTS   MOUNTAIN      .  51 

THE    FERRYBOAT          .....  .  .     51 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

A    FA i.i.   ox   THK    COXXF.CTICUT  .  .52 

JfNK  .  53 

THK    GROWING    Bov    ix    HIS    LAST    VKAK'S    CI.OTHKS  .          .     55 

AT   THK    BACK-DOOR  ...  -55 

THK   ACADEMY    .         .  .     56 

A    HORSE— CHESTNUT    MAX  .  .         ...     57 

AFTERGLOW          ...                            .  ...              57 

THK   VILLAGE    CHURCH        .                             .  .         .     58 

OXE    OK    THK    HUMBLER    HoUSKS                               .  .          ,          .          -      59 

A    DKSKRTKD    HOME    ...  -59 
GF/ITIXG   A    LOAD    OF    SAWDUST    HACK    OF    THK    SAW-MILL     .         .          .60 

A    MEADOW    STREAM   ....                   .  .     60 

A    HOME    UXDKR   THE    KLMS        .  61 

A    DOOR-STEP   GROUP          .  ....     62 

A    ROADSIDE    FRIF.XD            ...  ....     63 

BETTER  THAX  HOKIXG  ox  A  HOT  DAY  .          .         .         .64 

jL'i-v ....     65 

THK    PET   OF   THE    FARM    .         .  ......     67 

A    RAIXY    DAY    ....  ....     68 

A    HAMLET   AMONG   THE    HII.I.S    ...  ....     69 

SUMMER   SUNLIGHT   IN   A    "GORGE    ROAD".  .         .         .         -70 

OXE   OF   THE    LITTLE    RIYERS      .  .....     71 

THE   VILLAGE   GROCERYMAX          .  ....     72 

Ax   OUTLYING   VILLAGE        .                  .  ....     73 

A    VILLAGE   VIEW    IN    A    HALF-WOODED    DELL      .  .         .         .         -74 

THE   OLD   WELL-SWEEP       .                            .  ....     75 

Ix    HAVING    TIME         ...                    .  ....      76 

THE   STREAM   AND    THE    ELMS    IN   THE    MEADOW  .         .         .         -77 

UNDER   THE   OLD   SYCAMORE        .         .         .         .  .         .         .         -78 

AUGUST ...     79 

ONE   OF   THE   OLD   VILLAGE   STREETS  .         .         .  .         .         .         .81 

THE    HOUSE   WITH   THE   BARN   ACROSS   THE    ROAD  .         .         .         .82 

A   WARM    SUMMER    DAY      .         .         .         .         .  .         .         .         -83 

AT   WORK    IN    HER    OWN    STRAWBERRY    PATCH     .  84 

SEPTEMBER                    ....  .                             •     #5 

EVENING     .........  -87 

A    LOAD   OF   WOOD   ON   THE   WAY   UP  TO   THE   VILLAGE      .  .     88 

ix 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

A    \\.\\ i -:KI  ALL    IN    THE    WOODS    ...  89 

A    PANORAMA   OF    HII.I.S   AND   VALLEYS  „          „          c          ,90 

A    PASTURE.    GROUP     .  .  „  91 

OCTOISKR    .         .  ......     93 

A    PASTUKF.    (  IATK        .  .  -95 

A    ROAD    i;v    THK    STRKAM  .........     96 

A  I      THK      PASTURE.     GATE         .........        97 

THK     SllKKI'     PASTURE   .  ........        98 

A    OUIKT    POND  ...........     99 

HUSKING-TIME        .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .IOO 

SUNl.IGHT     AND     SHADOW  .........     IOI 

XoVK.MHKk  ...  ........     IO3 

THK    VII,I.A<;K    ON    THK    HILL  ........  105 

A    MILL    IN    THK    VALI.KV    .  .....                   .  106 

CLOUD    SHADOWS  ......  107 

A    Lo<;    HOUSK  .         .  ........  109 

Ax    EARLY    SNOW         .  ......  no 

ON    A    MOUNTAIN    CRA<;       .  .                   .          .         .         .          .          .  in 

ONK    OK    THK    GREEN    MOUNTAIN    PEAKS  .  .  .  .  .Ill 

AMONG   THK    Bi<;    HILLS      .          .  ....  .112 

A    DESERTED    HUT    IN   THE    WOODS  .          .         .         .         .  .  -113 

CHARCOAL    KILNS         .  ......   114 

ROUGH    UPLANDS          .                   .  .          .          .         .         .  .  -115 

DECEMKER  .          .         .          .          .  .                   .         .         .  .  -n? 

A    PATH    IN   THE    WINTER    WOODS  .          .                   .          .  .  .119 

WINDY    WINTER  —  ON   THK   WAY    HOME   KROM  SCHOOL.      .  .  .120 

AFTER    A    STORM  .         •         •  •  .121 


OLD      FIREPLACE 


PART    I 


A     FOOT- STOVE 


OLD    TIMES    ON    A    NEW    ENGLAND    FARM 

A  BOUT  "  old  times "  there 
*»•  always  hovers  a  peculiar 
charm.  A  dreamland  atmos- 
phere overhangs  them.  The 
present,  as  \ve  battle  along 
through  it,  seems  full  of  hard, 
dry  facts ;  but,  looking  back, 

experience  takes  on  a  rosy  hue.  The  sharp  edges  are 
gone.  Even  the  trials  and  difficulties  which  assailed  us 
have  for  the  most  part  lost  their  power  to  pain  or  try 
us,  and  take  on  a  story-book  interest  in  this  mellow 
land  of  memories. 

To  speak  of  "the  good  old  times "  is  to  gently 
implicate  the  present,  and  the  mild  disapproval  of  the 
new  therein  suggested  is,  from  elderly  people,  to  be 
expected.  We  grow  conservative  with  age.  Quiet  is 


CANES     AND     UMBRELLAS 


THE    \'EIV    ENGLAND     COUNTRY 


more  pleasing  than  change.  The  softened  outlines  of  the 
past  have  an  attraction  \vhich  the  present  matter-of-fact 
hurry  and  work  have  not,  and  the  times  when  we  were 
young  hold  peculiar  pleasure  for  our  contemplation.  To  act- 
ually prove  by  logic  and  rule  that  the  old  times  were  better 
than  the  new  would  not  be  easy.  They  had  their  lacks. 
The  world  learns  and  gains  many  things  as  it  ages.  It 
is  to  be  hoped  that  it  grows  better  as  it  grows  older;  but 
even  so  the  past  has 
its  charm,  whether 
one  of  memories  in 
w  \\c\\  we  ourselves 
were  actors,  or  of  sto- 
ry, which  shows  the 
ent  which  is  the  out- 
In  writing  of 
a  definite  period  in 
truth,  but  the  present 
the  phrase  is  met 
years  when  the  grand- 
mothers then  living 


THE     CHURN 


YE     ENTRANCE     OF     OLD     FASHION 


FARM     TOOLS 


contrast  to  the  pres- 
growth  of  that  past. 
"  old  times  "  we  have 
mind.  All  times,  in 
are  old,  but  wherever 
with,  it  refers  to  the 
fathers  and  grand- 
were  young.  Ever 
since  there  were 
grandfathers  and 

grandmothers  there  have  been  "  old  times,"  and 
these  times  have  kept  even  pace  with  the  age- 
ing of  the  world,  following,  shadow-like,  the 
accumulating  years,  and  always  nearly  three- 
quarters  of  a  century  behind  the  present.  It 
therefore  follows  that  the  "  old  times  "  pictured 
in  this  volume  have  to  do  with  the  early  part 
of  this  century. 

This  old  life  as  it  ran  then  in  our  New 
England  farmhouses  was  the  typical  American 
life,  and  was  not  essentially  different  from 
country  life  in  any  of  our  Northern  States. 
Even  with  that  of  the  city  it  had  many  things 


THE    NFW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


in  common.  The 
much  the  charac- 
villages,  and  were 
into  the  great 
and  stone,  now  fa- 
ness  may  throng 
noisy  streets.  Fac- 
with  their  high- 
grimy,  crowded 
about,  were  of  the 
But  the 
century  was  the 
E  very  where  was 


large  places  had 
ter  of  overgrown 
not  yet  converted 
blocks  of  brick 
miliar,  where  busi- 
miles  and  miles  of 
tory  towns,  too, 
walled  mills  and 
tenements  huddling 
future. 

dawn  of  the  new 
herald  of  change, 
activity.  The 


country    was    new,  and   we    had    many  needs  which   the  Old   World    did    not  feel. 

Necessity  made    us    inventors,    and    ingenuity   became  an  American    characteristic. 

A  long  line  of  towns  stretched  along  the  Atlantic  coast  and  occupied  an 

occasional  interval  along  the  larger 
streams,  and  houses  were  beginning 
to  appear  and  hamlets  to  grow  far- 
ther inland.  The  adventurous  were 
pushing  westward.  The  heavy  canvas- 
topped  wagons  drawn  by  the  slow- 
moving  oxen  were  trundling  along  the 
road  toward  the  setting  sun.  Under 
the  white  arch  of  canvas  were  stored 


FANS     AND     BACK-COMB 


the  furniture  and  household 
supplies  of  a  family.  Behind 
were  driven  the  sheep  and 
cattle  which  should  form  the 
nucleus  of  new  flocks  in  the 
new  home. 

The  century  was  seven 
years  old  before  Fulton's 
steamer  made  its  trial  trip. 


OLD     CHAIRS 


1  THE    NEW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 

Advantage  was  quickly  taken  of  this  new  application  of  power,  and  soon 
steam  vessels  were  puffing  up  and  down  all  the  larger  rivers  and  along 
the  coast,  though  a  dozen  years  elapsed  before  one  ventured  across  the 
Atlantic.  Railroads  were  still  unthought  of.  Even  wagons  were  not  common 
for  some  years  after  the  close  of  the  last  century. 

There  were  very  few  places  in  the  United  States  whose  inhabitants  ex- 
ceeded ten  thousand  in  1800;  but  the  building  of  factories  shortly  commenced, 
and  these  became  the  magnets  which  drew  a  great  tide  of  life  from  the 
country  and  from  foreign  shores  into  the  cities.  The  factories  gave  the  death- 


blow   to   the    multitude    of   handicrafts    which    up    to    this    time    had    flourished  in 
the    New    England  villages. 

The  New  England  town  of  the  period  was  made  up  of  a  group  of 
houses  about  an  open  common.  At  least,  it  started  thus.  As  the  town  grew, 
a  second  street  or  a  number  of  them  were  laid  out  parallel  or  at  right  angles 
to  the  first,  or  houses  were  erected  along  the  straggling  paths  which  led  to 
the  surrounding  fields ;  and  the  paths  in  time  grew  to  the  dignity  of  roads, 
and  linked  the  scattered  houses  and  hamlets  to  the  parent  village.  The 
central  village,  where  the  lay  of  the  land  permitted,  was  built  on  a  broad 
hilltop,  partly,  as  in  the  case  of  the  older  towns,  for  purposes  of  defence, 
partly  because  here  the  land  was  less  thickly  overgrown  with  trees  and 


THE    NEW    ENGLAND     COUNTRY 


5 


underbrush  and  'was  more  easily  cleared.  Another  reason  was  that  the  Old 
World  towns  were  built  thus,  and  the  emigrants  to  this  country  naturally  did 
likewise,  even  though  the  Old  World  life  in  feudal  times  which  gave  reason 


for  this  was  entirely  of 
Here  was  the 
quiet  building  fronted  by 
weather-worn  sheds  were 
parishioners  living  at  a 
their  horses  during  ser- 
the  tavern,  a  substantial 
whose  sign  swung  from 
a  tree  or  pole  close  by. 
four  or  five  little  shops 
lines  of  comfortable  two- 
People  in  general 


A     SILHOUETTE     PORTRAIT 


the    past. 

meeting  -  house,  a  big, 
the  spire.  A  group  of 
close  behind  it,  where 
distance  might  shelter 
vices.  Not  far  away  was 
and  roomy  building 
the  front  or  dangled  from 
Then  there  would  be 
and  stores  among  the 
story  dwellings, 
negl'ected  ornamental 


trees,  though  there  were  before  this  occasionally  persons  who  had  set  out 
shade  trees,  and  places  which  had  started  lines  of  elms  along  the  village 
streets.  About  this  time  Lombardy  poplars  became  fashionable.  The  poplar 
was  a  French  tree,  and  was  therefore  championed  by  the  Jeffersonian  Demo- 
crats, who  had  for  France  a  decided  partiality.  For  the  most  part  these 
trees  have  disappeared.  Still,  here  and  there  their  tall,  compact,  military 


1  V"  ^      ~&  • 

*  ^isr — 


A      RIVER-BOAT     BEFORE     THE      DAYS      OF     RAILROADS 

forms  are  seen  standing  dark  and  stiff,  and  with  a  still  lingering  air  about 
them  of  foreign  strangeness.  The  appearance  of  the  common  or  the  village 
in  general  was  little  thought  of.  Sidewalks  received  almost  no  attention,  and 
such  paths  as  there  were  had  been  made  by  the  wear  of  travel. 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 


A    COMFORTABLE    FARMHOUSE 


the  doorways, 
quite  intricate 
merit ;  yet  they 
less  in  design, 
pleasing  in  ef- 
too,  the  deco- 
doorway  w  a  s 
ornament  of  the 
and  the  cornice 
Piazzas  were 
houses  had  a 
the  entrance. 
The  finer  resi- 
dences had  knockers  on  the  front  doors.  Door-bells 
came  into  use  a  little  later.  Instead  of  the  mod- 
ern door-knobs,  iron  latches  were  used,  or  in  some 
cases  wooden  ones.  If  the  latch  had  no  thumb- 
piece —  and  the  more  primitive  ones  had  not — a 
string  was  attached  and  run  through  a  hole  bored 
for  the  purpose  just  above.  The  latch  was  on  the 
inside,  and  there  was  no  way  of  raising  it  except 
the  latchstring  hung  out.  Locking  was  readily  ac- 
complished by  pulling  in  the  string.  Some  houses 
had  wooden  buttons  on  the  doors  just  over  the 
latch,  which,  when  turned  down,  held  the  latch  in 


What  fine  buildings  those 
houses  of  old  times  were  and  still 
are! — not  in  the  least  pretentious, 
but  having  a  certain  distinguished 
air  of  comfort  and  stability;  no 
suggestion  of  the  doll-house  which 
so  many  of  our  Queen  Anne  cot- 
tages bring  to  mind,  but  withal  an 
appearance  of  quiet  and  attractive 
dignity.  The  supreme  effort  of  the 
builder  seems  to  have  centred  in 
which  are  often 
in  their  orna- 
arc  never  reck- 
and  are  always 
feet.  Often, 
ration  of  the 
echoed  in  the 
window  -  frames 
under  the  eaves, 
rare,  but  many 
porch  before 


THE    FLAX-WHEEL 


THE    NEW  ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


its  notch  and  thus  locked  the  door.  In  still  other  cases  doors  were  locked 
by  means  of  a  fork  thrust  in  just  above  the  latch,  but  for  the  most  part 
doors  of  buildings,  both  public  and  private,  went  unlocked. 

Houses    in    town,    and    the    meeting-house    as    well,    were    painted    red    or 


yellow.  Many 
cially  those  be- 
poorer  people 
side  the  main 
unpainted.  On 
old  buildins 


KITCHEN     UTENSILS 


houses,  espe- 
longing  to  the 
and  those  out- 
village,  were 
some  of  our 
may  yet  be 

seen    sugges-  tions     of     these 

former  brilliant  hues,  though  sun  and  storm  have  been  softening  the  tones 
all  through  the  years,  so  that  only  a  shadowy  tint  of  the  old  red  or  yellow 
still  clings  to  the  weather-worn  clapboards.  Most  houses  changed  color  to 
white,  when  that  became  the  fashion  fifty  years  ago.  Blinds  of  the  modern 
pattern  were  not  much  used  before  the  century  was  well  begun.  In  the 
Indian  days  heavy  wood- 
across  the  window  open- 
but  after  1750  the  Indians 
terror  to  New  England 
The  larger  wild 
gether  gone  by  this  time 
settled.  The  sheep  pas- 
not  now  in  danger  from 
Some  of  the  old  farmers 
younger  days  heard  the  dismal  cry  of  the  former  far  off  in  the  woods,  per- 
haps had  shot  a  black  bear  or  two,  or  caught  a  few  in  traps ;  but  now  a 
bear,  wolf,  or  wildcat  was  rarely  seen  anywhere  in  the  vicinity  of  the  older 
towns.  Deer  had  almost  disappeared.  Wild  turkeys  could  still  be  shot  in 
considerable  numbers,  and  in  the  fall  great  flocks  of  pigeons  made  their 
flights  in  sufficient  numbers  to  darken  the  sky. 

To  the  boys,  that  seems  the  golden  age  when  the  Indians  lurked  in 
the  deep  woods,  when  bears  and  wolves  and  other  wild  beasts  had  to  be 
Bought  with.  At  such  a  time  who  would  not  be  a  hero !  Hoeing  corn, 
digging  potatoes,  bringing  in  wood,  milking  cows,  where  is  the  chance  to 
show  our  talents  in  these  things?  The  heroes  are  in  the  West,  the  North, 


GOURDS     AND     PIGGINS 


en  doors  were  swung-  to 
ings  to  bar  the  passage, 
were  no  longer  objects  of 
people. 

animals  were  almost  alto- 
in  the  regions  longest 
tured  on  the  hills  were 
prowling  wolves  or  bears, 
had  perhaps  in  their 


10 


THE    NEW  ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


or  in  the  Tropics  now.  These  present  times  are  slow  and  dull,  and  hold  no 
such  opportunity  as  had  the  fathers,  for  the  valiant  youth  to  show  his 
quality.  But  this  feeling  is  a  mistaken  one.  The  lives  of  the  fathers  were 
main-  times  dull  to  them ;  they  had  much  monotonous  labor ;  wild  animals 
were  nuisances,  which  caused  loss  and  worry;  while  the  Indians  gave  them 
main-  a  scare,  and  awakenjed  little  feeling  in  the  youngster  of  that  day 
beyond  one  of  terror.  At  the  time  of  which  I  write  the  pioneer  epoch 


THE     WINDING      ROADWAY 


was    past    in    New    England,    but    many   stories    of  Indians    and   wild  beasts  were 
told    about   the   firesides    on    winter    evenings. 

In  a  country  town  the  coming  of  the  stage-coach  was  one  of  the 
events  of  its  daily  life.  Some  places  were  visited  by  the  coaches  once  or 
twice  a  week,  others  once  a  day  or  even  oftener.  When  the  lumbering 
coach  swept  down  the  village  street  with  crack  of  whip  and  blast  of  horn, 
everybody  tried  to  see  it  as  it  rumbled  past.  Happy  was  the  man  or  boy 
whom  business  or  pleasure  called  to  the  tavern  when  the  driver  with  a 


THE     'NEW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


ii 


A     MILL-YARD     IN     THE    VALLEY 

wore.  News  was  slow  in  travelling, 
and  the  papers  of  the  day  were 
rather  barren  of  the  gossipy  items 
which  the  average  human  being 
craves.  This  man  of  the  world, 
therefore,  who,  in  his  journeyings, 
saw  and  heard  so  much  of  which 
his  fellowmen  were  ignorant,  as- 
sumed a  magnified  importance. 
He  always  found  ready  listeners, 
and  his  opinions  had  much  weight. 
If  inclined  to  be  reticent  he  was 
questioned  and  coaxed  to  divulge 
his  knowledge  of  the  happenings 
in  the  outside  world  with  no  little 
anxiety.  When  railroads  came,  the 
coaches  travelled  remoter  ways. 
Some  found  a  last  resting-place 
in  backyards,  and  there  amid 
other  rubbish,  grasses,  and  weeds 
gradually  fell  to  pieces.  Others, 


flourish  brought  his 
horses  to  a  standstill 
before  the  door.  The 
driver  was  a  very  im- 
portant person  in  the 
eyes  of  most  of  the 
villagers,  and  by  none 
was  his  importance 
more  highly  appreci- 
ated than  by  himself. 
His  dignity  was  made 
the  more  impressive  by 
the  high  beaver  hat  he 


A    SUNNY    GLEN 


12  THE    NEIV   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 

pushed     omvard     by    the     iron     horse,    went    West,     getting     farther    and     farther 
from    their    old     haunts,    till     at    last    the     Rocky    Mountains    were     reached.       It 


A      QUIET      DAY 


may  be  that  some  of  the  old  New  England  coaches  are  still  at  work  in 
those  rugged  regions. 

Another  characteristic  vehicle  of  the  times  was  a  long,  heavy  wagon 
with  an  arched  canvas  top  and  high  board  sides,  drawn  by  from  four  to 
ten  horses,  which  travelled  between  Boston  and  towns  inland,  conveying  tea, 
coffee,  and  store  goods,  and  returning  with  a  load  of  pork,  butter,  cheese, 
and  grain.  These  wagons  were  useful  when  families  wished  to  travel  long 
distances.  When  the  railroads  began  to  do  their  former  work  the  wagons 
were  utilized  by  the  emigrants,  and  finally  on  the  Western  plains  were  given 
the  name  of  "  prairie  schooners." 

When  an  inland  town  was  in  the  neighborhood  of  a  navigable  stream 
the  heavier  supplies,  such  as  sugar,  rum,  and  molasses,  were  brought  up  the 
river  in  big  flat-boats.  These  boats  were  clumsy,  square-ended  affairs,  with 
a  narrow  cabin  across  the  stern  just  high  enough  for  a  man  to  stand  up 
in,  where  were  a  couple  of  bunks  and  a  rude  stove.  A  big,  square  sail 


THE    NEW  ENGLAND    COUNTRY  n 

on  a  thirty-foot  mast  moved  the  craft,  but  when  the  wind  failed  it  was 
necessary  to  resort  to  poling.  The  helmsman  had  his  post  on  the  roof  of 
the  cabin,  and  he  with  one  other  man  made  up  the  crew.  Sometimes  they 
ate  their  meals  on  board,  sometimes  stopped  at  a  village  on  the  banks  and 
went  to  the  tavern.  When  darkness  settled  down  they  hitched  somewhere 
along  shore,  but  at  times,  when  the  wind  was  fair  and  the  moon  bright, 
would  sail  on  all  night. 

Post-offices  were  in  the  early  days  far  less  common  than  now,  and 
postage  was  expensive,  varying  in  amount  with  the  distance  the  missive 
travelled.  Letters  were  not  stamped,  but  the  sum  ch.arged  was  marked  on 
the  corner  and  collected  by  the  postmaster  on  delivery.  Envelopes  were 
not  in  common  use  till  about  1850.  Letters  were  usually  written  on  large- 


A     BARN-DOOR     GROUP 


sized  paper,  and  as  much  as  possible  crowded  on  a  sheet.  The  sheet  was 
dexterously  folded  so  that  the  only  blank  space,  purposely  so  left,  made  the 
front  and  back  of  the  missive.  Then  the  letter  was  directed  and  sealed 
with  wax,  and  was  ready  for  the  mail.  Towns  not  favored  with  a  post- 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


A     TURN      IN      THE      ROAD 


office  would  get  their  mail  by  the  stage-coach,  or,  if  off  the  stage  routes, 
would  send  a  post-rider  periodically  to  the  nearest  office.  As  the  post -rider 
came  jogging  back  with  his  saddle-bags  full  of  newspapers  and  letters,  the 


A    COUNTRY    STAGE     COACH     IN     WINTER 


sound  of  his  horn  which  told  of  his  approach  was  a  very  pleasant  one  to 
those  within  the  farm-houses,  who  always  looked  forward  with  eagerness  to 
the  day  which  brought  the  county  paper  with  the  news. 


THE    NEW  ENGLAND    COUNTRY  15 

The  out-door  farm  life  of  that  time  was  distinguished  by  its  long 
hours  and  the  amount  of  muscle  required.  The  tools  were  rude  and  clumsy, 
and  the  machines  which  did  away  with  hand  labor  were  very  few.  From 
seed-time  to  harvest,  work  began  with  the  coming  of  day  light  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  only  ceased  when  in  the  evening  the  gray  gloom  of  night  began 
to  settle  down. 

Up  to  this  time  little  fencing  had  been  done  about  the  pasture  land, 
that  being  common  property  on  which  everybody  turned  loose  their  sheep 
and  cattle.  Many  of  the  creatures  wore  bells,  which  tinkled  and  jingled  on 
the  hillsides  and  in  the  woods  from  morn  till  night.  .  But  now  the  towns 
were  dividing  the  "  commons "  among  the  property-holders,  fences  were 


A     HILLTOP     VILLAGE 


built,  and  the  Hocks  separated.  On  rocky  land  many  stone  walls  were  built, 
but  in  the  lowlands  the  usual  fence  was  made  by  digging  a  ditch,  and  on 
the  ridge  made  by  the  earth  thrown  out  making  a  low  barrier  of  rails, 
stakes,  and  brush.  Gradually  more  substantial  fences  were  built,  for  the 
most  part  of  the  zigzag  Virginia  rail  pattern. 

Oxen  did  most  of  the  heavy  farm-work,  such  as  ploughing  and 
hauling,  and  it  was  not  till  after  1825  that  horses  became  more  gen- 
eral. The  common  cart  which  then  answered  in  the  place  of  our  two- 
horse  wagon  was  a  huge  two- wheeled  affair  having  usually  a  heavy  box 
body  on  the  "  ex. "  But  when  used  in  haying,  the  sides  of  the  box  were 
removed  and  long  stakes  were  substituted. 

In  the  summer  the  men  were  out  before  sun  up,  swinging  their  scythes 
through  the  dewy  grass,  and  leaving  long,  wet  windrows  behind  them  for  the 


1 6  THE    XEIV   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 

boys  to  spread.  Mowing,  turning,  and  raking  were  all  done  by  hand,  which 
made  the  labor  of  haying  an  extended  one.  In  the  busiest  times  the  women 
and  girls  of  the  family  often  helped  in  the  fields  "tending"  hay,  or  load- 
ing it,  or  raking  after.  They  helped,  too,  in  harvesting  the  grain  and 
flax,  and  later  in  picking  up  apples  in  the  orchard.  They  did  the  milking 


A      LITTLE      LAKE 


the  year  round,  using  clumsy  wooden  pails,  and  for  a  seat,  a  heavy  three- 
legged  stool  or  a  block  of  wood.  The  smaller  children  drove  the  cows  to 
pasture  in  the  morning  and  brought  them  back  at  night,  often  a  distance  of 
a  mile  or  two  along  lonesome  roadways  or  by-paths. 

When  the  grain  ripened,  it  was  reaped  by  hand  with  the  slender,  saw- 
edged  sickles.  The  peas  and  oats,  which  were  sowed  together,  had  to  be 
mowed  and  gotten  in ;  the  flax  had  to  be  pulled  and  rotted ;  there  was  hoe- 
ing to  be  done,  and  the  summer  was  full  of  work.  In  the  fall  the  corn 
had  to  be  cut  and  husked  and  the  stalks  brought  in,  the  pumpkins  and 
squashes  gathered,  potatoes  dug,  the  haying  finished,  and  the  apples  picked. 
Most  farms  had  large  orchards  about  them,  and  many  barrels  of  apples  were 
stowed  away  in  the  cellar,  but  the  larger  part  was  made  into  cider.  There 
would  usually  be  several  little  cider-mills  in  a  town,  whose  creaking  machinery 
could  be  heard  on  many  a  cool  autumn  day  groaning  under  its  labors. 
The  shaking  of  the  apple-trees  and  carting  the  fruit  to  mill,  and  the  taking 


THE    'NEW  ENGLAND    COUNTRY  17 

copious  draughts  of  the  sweet  liquid  through  a  straw  from  the  tub  that 
received  it  from  the  press,  and  then  the  return  with  the  full  barrels  —  all 
this  had  more  of  the  frolic  in  it  than  real  work,  particularly  for  the  boys. 
The  sweet  apples,  in  large  part,  were  run  through  the  mill  by  themselves, 
and  the  cider  was  boiled  down  at  home  into  a  thick  fluid  known  as  apple- 
molasses,  used  for  sweetening  pies,  sauce,  and  puddings.  When  harvesting 
was  done,  the  cellar  was  full  of  vegetables  in  barrels  and  bins  and  heaps,  and 
heavy  casks  of  cider  lined  the  walls,  and  little  space  was  left  for  passageways. 
Even  in  broad  daylight  it  was  a  place  mysterious,  gloomy,  and  dungeon-like ; 
yet  its  very  fulness  which  made  it  thus  was  suggestive  of  good  cheer. 

Winter,    too,    brought    plenty    of    work,    but    it    was    not    so    arduous    and 
long-continued     as    that    of    summer.       There    was   the    stock    to    feed    and   water 


and  keep  comfortable;  the  threshing  to  do;  trees  must  be  felled  in  the 
woods  and  sledded  to  the  home  yard,  there  to  be  worked  up  into  fireplace 
length ;  tools  needed  mending ;  there  was  the  flax  to  attend  to,  and,  if  new 
fencing  was  to  be  done  in  the  spring,  rails  must  be  split. 


i8 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 


Grain  was  threshed  out  with  hand-flails  on  the  barn  floor.  On  many 
days  of  early  winter  and  from  many  a  group  of  farm  buildings  the  rhythmic 
beat  of  the  flails  sounded  clear  on  the  frosty  air  as  straw  and  grain  parted 
company.  When  it  was  necessary  to  go  to  mill,  the  farmer  filled  a  couple 
of  bags,  fastened  them  across  the  back  of  his  horse,  mounted  in  front,  and 
trotted  off  to  get  it  ground,  or  perhaps  his  wife  or  one  of  the  children 
mounted  instead  and  did  the  errand.  The  grist-mill  was  in  some  hollow 
where  the  water  paused  above  in  a  sleepy  pond,  and  then,  having  turned  the 


SNOW-FIELDS     ON     THE      HILLS 


great  slow-revolving  wooden  wheel  against  the  side  of  the  mill,  tumbled  noisily 
on  down  the  ravine. 

In  the  earliest  days  of  spring,  if  the  farm  had  a  maple  orchard  within 
its  borders,  there  were  trees  to  tap,  and  sap  to  gather  and  boil  down.  The 
snow  still  lay  deep  in  the  woods  where  the  maples  grew,  and  the  sap-gathering 
was  done  with  an  ox-sled  on  which  was  set  a  huge  cask.  In  some  sheltered 
nook  of  the  woods  a  big  kettle  was  swung  over  an  open-air  fire,  and  the 
boiling-down  process  commenced. 

Not  much  farm  produce  was  sold  for  money;  the  people  raised  and 
made  much  more  of  what  they  ate  and  wore  than  at  present,  and  exchanged 
with  neighbors  and  the  village  storekeeper  whatever  they  had  a  surplus  of 


THE    NEMs  ENGLAND    COUNTRY  21 

for  things  which  they  lacked.  Even  the  minister  and  doctor  were  paid  in 
part  with  wood,  grain,  and  other  produce.  At  the  beginning  of  the  century 
accounts  were  kept  in  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence,  and  the  money  in  use 
was  of  foreign  coinage,  mainly  English  and  Spanish. 

The  kitchen  was  the  centre  of  family  life.  Here  a  vast  amount  of 
work  was  done.  Here  they  ate,  spent  their  evenings,  and  commonly  received 
visitors.  Often  it  served  as  a  sleeping-room  besides.  Its  size  was  ample, 
though  the  ceiling  was  low  and  pretty  sure  to  be  crossed  by  a  ponderous 
beam  of  the  framework  of  the  house,  the  lower  half  projecting  from  the 
plastering  above.  A  few  straight-backed  chairs  sat  stiffly  up  against  the 
wainscoted  wall,  and  seemed  to  have  an  air  of  reserve  that  would  change 
to  surprise  if  one  ventured  to  move  or  use  them.  There  stood  the  dresser, 


CLEARED      LAND 


with  bright  array  of  pewter,  a  small  table,  a  bed  turned  up  against  the  wall 
and  hidden  by  curtains,  a  cradle,  a  stand,  a  great  high-backed  settle,  and 
lastly,  extending  almost  across  one  end  of  the  room,  was  the  most  important 
feature  of  the  kitchen,  the  fireplace. 

Let    us    take    an     early    morning    look     into     one    of    these     old     kitchens. 
Dusky  shadows  still    linger;    we    cannot    make    objects   out    clearly;    one    or    two 


22 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


coals  are  glowing  in  the  cavernous  mouth  of  the  fireplace,  and  a  wisp  of 
smoke  steals  upward  and  is  lost  in  the  gloomy  chimney.  It  is  late  in  the 
fall.  When  winter  really  sets  in,  the  turned- up  bed  will  come  into  use. 
Somebody  is  moving  about  in  the  bedroom,  and  now  the  door  is  opened  and 
the  man  of  the  house,  in  frowzled  head,  comes  from  the  sleeping-room.  He 
is  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  and  the  heels  of  his  big  slippers  clatter  on  the  floor 
as  he  shuffles  across  to  the  fireplace.  He  is  a  smooth-faced,  middle-aged 


GATHERING  SAP  IN  THE  SUGAR  ORCHARD 


man,  vigorous,  but  slow-moving,  and  bent  by  hard  work.  He  pokes  away 
the  ashes,  throws  on  the  coals  a  few  sticks  from  a  pile  of  three-foot  wood 
on  the  floor  close  by,  and  in  a  few  moments  there  is  a  fine  blaze  and  crackle. 
The  room  is  chilly,  and  the  man  rubs  his  hands  together,  stooping  forward 
to  catch  the  warmth  from  the  fire.  A  scratching  is  heard  on  the  outside 
door.  He  shuffles  over  .and  opens  it.  The  cat  glides  in  and  rubs  against 
him  gratefully  as  she  goes  over  to  the  fireplace,  where  she  seats  herself  on 
the  hearth  and  proceeds  to  make  an  elaborate  toilet. 

The  man  kicks  off  his  slippers  and  pulls  on  a  pair  of  stiff,  heavy 
boots.  He  takes  his  coat  from  a  peg  by  the  fireplace,  puts  it  on  and  his  cap, 
and  goes  out.  Every  footstep  falls  clear  and  distinct  on  the  frozen  ground. 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 


23 


The  big  arm  of  the  well-sweep  in  the  yard  creaks  as  he  lowers  the  bucket 
for  water.  Soon  he  returns  with  a  brimming  pail,  fills  the  iron  tea-kettle, 
then  goes  out  again. 

The     kettle,     suspended    from    the    crane,     seems     quite     shocked     by    this 
deluge  of  cold  water.       It  swings  in   nervous  motion  on  its  pot-hook  and   shakes 


WAYSIDE     BERRY-PICKERS 


from  its  black  sides  the  water-drops,  which  fall  with  a  quick  hiss  of  protest 
into  the  fire.  The  heat  below  waxes  greater,  and  the  cat  moves  to  a  cooler 
position. 

It  is  lighter  now.  The  tea-kettle  recovers  from  its  ill-humor,  and,  half 
asleep,  sings  through  its  nose  a  droning  song  of  contentment  and  sends  up 
the  chimney  quite  a  little  cloud  of  steam.  Now  the  woman  of  the  family 


24  THE    NEW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 

has  appeared  and  bustles  about  getting  breakfast.  She  calls  the  children  at 
the  chamber  door.  Down  they  come,  and  crowd  about  the  fire  or  scrub 
themselves  in  the  wash-basin  on  the  table.  Grandfather  is  up,  and  he  and 
the  older  boys  go  out-doors.  Grandma  helps  the  smaller  children  fasten 
their  clothes  and  wash  their  faces,  and  assists  about  the  housework. 

Some   of  the   older  girls,  perhaps   grandma    or    the    mother   also,  soon   take 
their  wooden    pails   and   go   to   the  barn  to   milk  the  cows.       When   they  returned, 


A      FARM      AMID     THE      BIG      HILLS 


they  strained  the  milk  through  cloths  held  over  the  tops  of  the  pails  into 
the  brown  earthen  pans,  and  then  were  ready  to  help  with  the  breakfast 
preparations.  A  second  kettle  has  been  hung  from  the  crane,  in  which 
potatoes  are  boiling.  Coals  have  been  raked  out  on  the  hearth,  and  over 
them  is  set  a  long-legged  spider  on  which  slices  of  poik  are  sizzling. 

By  the  time  breakfast  was  ready,  the  men,  by  reason  of  their  open-air 
exercise,  had  appetites  which  nought  but  very  hearty  food  could  appease. 
Before  they  sat  down  to  eat,  the  family  gathered  about  the  table  and  stood 
while  the  head  of  the  family  asked  a  blessing.  Then  the  older  ones  seated 
themselves,  while  the  children  went  to  a  small  second  table  at  one  side,  about 


THE    NEW  ENGLAND     COUNTRY  25 

which    they    stood    and    ate,    trotting    over    to    the    main    table   when    they  wished 

to    replenish    their    plates. 

Many    families    had    cider    on    the    table    to    drink    at  every   meal.       Other 

have  coffee  or 
though  the  lat- 
much  used  ex- 
pany,  and  neith- 
extcnt  as  at 
was  sweetened 
ordinarily,  and 
did  palates  be- 
that  when  sugar 


people  would 
sometimes  tea, 
t  e  r  w  a  s  not 
cept  for  com- 
er to  such  an 
present.  Coffee 
with  molasses 
so  accustomed 
come  to  this, 


A      LITTLE     HOME     ON     THE     HILLSIDE 


came     into     more     general    use,    it    was    considered    by    many    a    very    poor    sub- 
stitute 

Breakfast  eaten,  the  household  gathered  about  the  main  table  once 
more  and  stood  while  thanks  were  returned.  Then  followed  family  worship. 
It  was  customary  to  read  the  Bible  from  beginning  to  end,  —  a  chapter  each 
morning,  —  all  the  family  reading  verses  in  turn;  and  then,  if  they  were  musical, 
a  hymn  was  sung.  Lastly,  all  knelt  while  prayer  was  offered. 


S 


AN     OLD     MILL 


Work  now  began  again.  The  men  left  to  take  up  their  labor  out  of 
doors,  while  the  women  busied  themselves  in  the  house  with  their  varied 
tasks.  As  the  morning  wore  away,  preparation  began  for  dinner.  What 


26 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 


was  known  as  a  "  boiled  dinner "  was  most  often  planned.  It  was  prepared 
in  a  single  great  pot.  First  the  meat  was  put  in ;  then  from  time  to  time, 
according  as  the  particular  things  were  quick  or  slow  in  cooking,  the  vegetables 
were  added,  —  potatoes,  beets,  squash,  turnip,  and  cabbage,  —  arid  probably  in 
the  same  pot  a  bag  of  Indian  pudding.  When  clock  or  noon-mark  registered 
twelve,  the  dinner  was  dished  up  and  the  men  called  in.  The  meal  was 
heart\r  and  simple,  and  the  family  did  not  feel  the  need  of  much  besides 
the  meat  and  vegetables.  Even  bread  was  hardly  thought  necessary.  Some- 
times pie  or  pudding  was  brought  on  for  dessert,  but  not  regularly.  The 
pie-eating  era  began  a  generation  later. 

At    six    o'clock    the    supper-table    was    set.       The  cows  had    been    fed   and 
milked ;   the    boys    had    brought    in    the  wood,  and   as    they  had  no    wood-boxes, 


they  dumped  the  heavy  three-foot  sticks  on  the  floor  by  the  fire,  or  stood 
it  up  on  end  against  the  wall  at  one  side,  or  piled  it  between  the  legs  of  the 
kitchen  table ;  and  other  odd  jobs  were  done,  and  the  family  gathered  about 
the  table.  Bread  and  milk  was  quite  apt  to  be  the  chief  supper  dish. 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 


After  the  blessing  was  asked  and  the  elders  had  seated  themselves,  the  children 
would  fill  their  pewter  porringers  or  wooden  bowls  and  pull  their  chairs  up 
about  the  fireplace.  Instead,  they  would  sometimes  crouch  on  the  stone  hearth, 
while  the  fire  glowed  and  crackled  and  set  the  lights  and  shadows  playing 
about  the  little  figures.  Their  chatter  back  and  forth  and  the  company  of 
the  fire  made  their  circle  like  a  little  world  in  itself,  and  the  grown  folks 
and  their  talk  seemed  far,  far  away. 

When    supper    was     ended     and    the     dishes     done,    the    women     took    up 


their  sewing  and 
everything  worn 
manufacture,  and 
ing  and  mending 
ing  one.  Even 
four  or  five  years 
but  were  taking 
with  the  knitting- 
men  had  less  real 
perhaps  were  oc- 


A      SPRING      MORNING 


knitting.  Almost 
was  of  home 
the  task  of  mak- 
was  a  never-end- 
the  little  girls  of 
were  not  idle, 
their  first  lessons 
needles.  The 
work  to  do,  — 
cupied  with 
en  harness  or 


mending    a   brok- 

tool,  making  a  birch  broom,  whittling  out  a  few  clothes-pins,  or  constructing 
a  box-trap  in  which  to  catch  mice.  Sometimes  certain  of  the  family  played 
games.  Evening,  too,  was  a  time  for  reading. 

Just  before  the  children  went  to  bed,  the  family  laid  aside  all  tasks 
and  games,  and  read  a  chapter  from  the  Bible  and  had  prayers.  By  nine 
o'clock  ail  had  retired  except  the  father,  —  the  head  of  the  family,  —  who  wound 
the  clock,  pulled  off  his  boots  in  a  boot-jack  of  his  own  making,  and  yawned 
as  he  shovelled  the  ashes  over  some  of  the  larger  hard-wood  coals,  lest 
the  fire  should  be  lost  during  the  night.  Then  he,  too,  disappeared,  and  the 
fire  snapped  more  feebly,  with  now  and  then  a  fresh  but  short-lived  effort  to 
blaze,  and  so  faded  into  a  dull  glow  and  left  the  gloomy  shadows  of  the 
room  in  almost  full  sway. 

It  is  difficult  to  compare  the  old  life  with  the  new  and  say  that  in 
any  particular  way  one  was  better  than  the  other,  and  decide  under  which 
conditions  character  would  grow  most  manly  or  most  womanly.  Human 
nature  is  the  same  now  as  fifty  or  seventy-five  years  ago ;  but  that  nature 
grows  in  a  different  soil,  and  surrounded  by  a  different  atmosphere.  Our 


28  THH    NEW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 

present  standards  are  unlike  the  old,  the  conditions  surrounding  us  have 
changed,  and  the  way  in  which  our  feelings,  our  desires,  and  aspirations 
find  expression  is  changed  as  well. 

It    is    certain    that    all    the    elements  of  life  and    growth    are    within    easier 


A      WILLOW-LINED      RIVER 


reach,  and  may  more  easily  be  drawn  together  and  assimilated,  that  under 
favorable  conditions  one  can  get  a  finer  and  broader  culture.  Nature  with 
all  its  forces,  holding  power  for  help  and  hindrance,  has  been  brought  more 
under  man's  subjection.  Contributions  to  the  sum  of  human  thought  and 
knowledge  have  been  many  and  valuable.  As  the  years  have  slipped'  away 
the  upward  path  has  been  made  broader  and  smoother,  and  one  can  travel 
it  in  more  comfort  and  go  much  faster.  But,  at  the  same  time,  the  down- 

l/  '•* 

ward  paths  have  increased  in  number  and  attractiveness,  and  the  narrower 
ways  and  more  rigid  training  of  three  generations  ago  would  unquestionably 
have  held  some  steady  who  now  are  deteriorating. 

The  fathers  made  the  path  toward  virtue  both  narrow  and  rugged. 
It  required  sturdy  self-control  to  keep  that  way ;  but  each  sternly  held 
himself,  his  family,  and  his  neighbors  to  the  task.  Any  backsliding  or  step- 
ping aside  called  for  severe  reprimand  or  punishment.  About  their  lives 
was  a  certain  forbidding  formality  and  setness.  They  had  a  powerful  sense 


THE  NEW  ENGLAND  COUNTRY  31 

of  independence,  but  were  very  conservative.  Any  change  of  thought  or 
action  was  looked  upon  as  dangerous,  and  they  often  made  what  was 
their  independence  another's  bonds.  Life  was  to  them  very  serious.  In  it, 
according  to  their  interpretation,  there  was  room  for  little  else  fhan  sober 
years  of  work.  What  enjoyment  they  got  in  life  came  from  the  satisfaction 
in  work  accomplished,  in  an  improved  property,  and  in  prosperous  sons  and 
daughters. 

Men's  character  moulds  their  features.  It  graved  deep  lines  of  stub- 
born firmness  on  the  faces  of  the  men  of  that  time.  There  were  shown 
determination  and  enterprise  and  ingenuity.  In  the  eyes  were  steadiness  and 
sturdy  honesty.  But  the  softening  which  the  free  play  of  humor  and  imagi- 
nation would  help  produce  were  lacking.  The  man's  nature  was  petrified 


THE     CONNECTICUT 


into  a  rock  which  held  its  own.  and  withstood  the  sunshine  and  the  buffeting 
storm  with  equal  firmness.  He  had  ability  and  willingness  to  bear  great 
burdens,  and  the  generation  did  a  vast  amount  of  work  in  the  world. 

The  individual  to-day  is  much  more  independent  of  the  world  close 
about  him  than  he  was  seventy-five  years  ago.  He  asks  less  of  his  neigh- 
bors, they  less  of  him.  The  interests  of  the  community  are  of  less  impor- 


THE 


ENGLAND     COUNTRY 


tance  to  Irini,  and  he  is  of  less  importance  to  the  community.  The 
to\vn  which  in  the  old  days  would  have  been  a  little  world  to  him  is  now 
but  a  small  space  on  the  earth.  Man  has  grown  more  restless.  A  quiet  life 
of  simple  usefulness  is  not  enough.  His  fingers  itch  for  money  and  he 
dreams  of  fame.  He  feels  the  swirl  of  the  current  which  draws  him  toward 
those  great  whirlpools  of  life,  —  our  modern  cities.  There  alone,  it  seems  to 
him,  are  things  done  on  a  grand  scale  to  be  admired;  there  alone  he  sees 
fair  scope  for  energy  and  ability.  One  by  one  the  country  dwellers  leave 
the  home  farms,  and  some  there  are  win  fame  and  some  get  fortune,  but 


many  are  forever 
1 11  t  i  m  e  s 
less  hurry  and 
To  be  satisfied 
has  is  to  have 
er  one  lives  in 
mansion.  To  live 
comfort  was  once 
v  i  e  w  o  f  w  h  a  t 
necessities  of 
changed  vastly, 
once  have  been 
may  now  be  but 
ness.  The  people 
very  little,  and 
tact  with  outside 
n  e  i  {£  h  boring 


THF.     SPRING      HCf.ING 


lost  sight  of. 
past  there  was 
more  content, 
with  what  one 
happiness,  wheth- 
a  hovel  or  in  a 
with  economy  in 
enough.  But  the 
constitute  the 
comfort  has 
and  what  would 
accounted  luxury 
a  painful  meagre- 
formerly  travelled 
had  small  con- 
life,  save  that  of 


towns,  which  dif- 
fered little  from  that  at  home.  Journeys  which  now,  with  the  aid  of  steam, 
are  slight  undertakings,  were  then  very  serious.  In  the  case  of  journeys  of 
any  length,  prayers  were  offered  in  church  for  the  traveller's  safe  return ; 
and  when  the  journey  was  ended,  the  minister  gave  thanks  for  the  happy 
accomplishment  of  the  trip.  The  labor  and  uncertainty  connected  with  a 
long  journey,  and  the  unfamiliarity  with  the  destination,  made  home  seem  a 
very  safe  and  comfortable  place.  The  newspapers  were  prosy  and  slow, 
and  gave  little  account  of  the  outside  world  to  excite  and  attract  the  young. 
Long  reports  of  legislative  and  congressional  doings,  and  discussions  of  sub- 
jects political  and  religious,  filled  many  columns.  No  space  was  wasted  on 


THE    NEW  ENGLAND     COUNTRY 


33 


light  reading.  The  object  v.ras  not  so  much  to  interest  as  to  instruct  the 
reader.  The  communications  and  reports  of  news  were  inclined  to  be  prosy 
and  pompous,  but  were  always  thoughtful  and  courteous,  rarely  abusive  or 
trivial.  There  was  an  almost  entire  lack  of  local  news,  and  such  things  as 
stories,  slang,  or  nonsense  were  not  allowed. 


34 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


PART    II 


THE    NEW    ENGLAND    OF    TO-DAY 

r  I  "*HE  New  England  country  has  with  the  ageing  of 
the  century  been  depopulated.  The  causes  are 
various,  but  the  evolution  of  the  newspaper  has  much 
to  do  with  this.  Visions  of  movement,  and  wealth,  and 
fame  penetrate  daily  to  the  smallest  village.  Youth  has 
always  elements  of  unfixity  and  uneasiness.  It  craves 
stir  and  excitement.  The  future  is  full  of  golden  pos- 
sibilities. Riches  or  position  present  no  height  which 
may  not  be  scaled.  But  it  is  not  the  farm  which  holds 
these  higher  possibilities.  No,  they  are  to  be  won  in 
store,  or  shop,  or  bank,  where  the  noisy  tides  of  the 
big  towns  keep  up  their  restless  sway  through  the  leagues 
of  brick-walled  city  streets.  In  the  city  is  always  movement.  Not  a  paper 
comes  into  the  country  village  but  that  tells  of  some  grand  emprise,  some  fresh 


THE      FRIENDLY      GUIDE 


A     HILL     TOWN 


THE    NEW  ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


35 


THE     BACK     SHEDS 


excitement,  that  has  its  home  in  a  familiar  near  city.  But  the  chronicler  for 
the  home  village  finds  no  items  more  worthy  of  note  than  that  some  one's  cow 
has  died,  and  that  Amanda  Jones  is  visiting  Susan  Smith.  The  contrast 
presented  is  one  of  home  monotony  and  triviality,  and  city  stir  and  grandeur. 
The  picture  is  not  altogether  a 
true  one.  Acquaintance  with 
the  big  places  is  to  the  coun- 
try boy  almost  uniformly  dis- 
appointing. The  buildings  are 
not  so  high  nor  so  fine  as  he 
supposed.  The  din  and  crowds 
of  the  city  streets  grow  confus- 
ing and  wearisome.  If  he  stays 
and  gains  a  situation,  and  be- 
gins to  work  his  way  up  in 
the  world,  he  finds  competition 
intense,  his  freedom  sharply  cur- 
tailed, and  his  lodgings  narrow 

and  in  many  ways  lacking  comfort.  If  he  lives  on  his  wages,  which  at  first 
will  be  very  small,  close  economy  is  required  in  food,  clothes,  and  other 
expenses.  In  summer  the  heat  is  apt  to  make  office  and  lodging-place 
stiflingly  disagreeable.  All  through  the  year  memories  of  the  home  farm,  if 
he  be  imaginatively  inclined,  make  Arcadian  pictures  in  his  mind,  and  he 
many  times  questions  if  he  has  not  jumped  from  the  frying-pan  into 
the  fire. 

No  one  place  holds  every  element  of  pleasure  or  comfort.  The  country 
has  its  lacks,  so  has  the  city.  The  ideal  home  is  perhaps  in  the  country 
village  within  easy  travelling  distance  of  some  big  town.  Thus  you  may 
largely  avoid  the  drawbacks  of  either  place,  while  you  have  within  reach  all 
their  pleasures.  To  live  far  back  among  the  hills,  cut  off  from  the  nearest 
railway  station  by  many  miles  of  hard  travelling,  is,  in  these  modern  days, 
a  positive  hardship.  Few  young  people  will  settle  down  contentedly  where 
they  are  so  cut  off  from  the  pleasures  of  seeing  the  world  by  occasional 
railroad  trips,  and  getting  the  glimpses  they  crave  of  the  busier  life  of  the 
cities.  Hence  the  tide  sets  away  from  the  remoter  towns.  The  masses  always 
follow  the  turn  of  the  current  whichever  way  it  shows  strong  tendency  to 


36  THE    NEW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 

run,  and  the  boys,  as  they  grow  up,  live  in  full  expectation  of  leaving  the 
home  place  after  school-days  are  over.  One  by  one  they  go  from  the  valleys 
and  the  hill-tops,  and  merge  into  the  busier  life  of  the  factory  villages  and 
the  cities.  An  air  of  depression  lingers  over  the  regions  they  leave.  The 
most  vigorous  life  has  departed,  enterprise  is  asleep,  thrift  lags.  There  are 
still  houses  neatly  kept,  with  clean,  well-tilled  fields  about,  and  a  town  now 
and  then  which  is  a  happy  exception  to  the  rule;  but  there  is  much  which 
is  hopeless  and  despondent.  Few  roads  can  be  followed  far  without  coming 


WINTER     TWILIGHT  —  GOING      UP      FOR      ONE     MORE     SLIDE 


upon  some  broken-windowed  ruin  of  a  house,  now  for  years  unoccupied,  and 
wholly  given  over  to  decay.  The  children  left,  drawn  by  dreams  of  the 
gains  the  city  or  the  sea  or  the  far  West  offered ;  and  the  parents  are  gone, 
too,  now.  The  shingles  and  clapboards  loosen  and  the  roof  sags,  and 
within,  damp,  mossy  decay  has  fastened  itself  to  walls,  floor,  and  ceiling  of 
every  room.  Gaps  have  broken  in  the  stone  walls  along  the  roadway,  and 
the  brambles  are  thick  springing  on  either  side.  In  the  front  yard  is  a 
gnarled,  untrimmed  apple-tree  with  a  great  broken  limb  sagging  to  the  ground, 
and  about  a  ragged  growth  of  bushes.  As  time  goes  on,  the  house  falls 
piece  by  piece,  and  at  last  only  the  shattered  chimney  stands,  a  grim  monu- 
ment of  the  one-day  comfortable  home  —  a  memorial  of  the  dead  past. 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


37 


Yet  even  now  life  is  not  all  of  the  past.  Amidst  the  rubbish  careful 
watching  might  reveal  many  of  the  little  creatures  of  the  field,  and  at 
eventide  of  summer  days  you  might  see  a  darting  of  wings  and  descry 
a  little  company  of  swallows  dipping  toward  the  chimney's  open  cavern. 

Some  of  the  deserted  homes  would  be  still  habitable,  and  that 
very  comfortably  so,  were  there  tenants.  The  life  possible  on  these  farms 
would  seem  much  happier  and  more  desirable  than  that  possible  to  the 
poor  family  in  the  tenement  of  a  factory  village  or  in  the  crowded  quarters 
of  our  cities.  But  the  country  is  to  such  very  "  lonesome,'1  and  there  is  hardly 
a  city  family  of  the  more  ignorant  classes  but  will  choose  squalor  in  the 
city  rather  than  comfort  in  the  country.  The  noise  and  continual  move- 
ment of  the  town  have  become  a  part  of  their  lives,  and  severed  from  that 
it  is  but  a  blank,  unspeaking  landscape  unfolds  before  their  eyes.  Nature  is 
really  never  lonesome.  Only  our  habit  and  education  make  it  so  seem. 
Nature  is  always  singing,  whether  in  our  fellow  humans,  or  in  the  hills  and 
valleys,  or  in  the  life  of  plants  and  animals.  It  is  we  lack  eyes  to  see  and 
ears  to  hear.  Nevertheless,  mankind  is  naturally  social,  and  though  Robinson 


1 


A     HILL-TOWN      VILLAGE 


38  THE    NE1V   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 

Crusoe     and     his     island     were     very    interesting,     we     do     not     envy     him     the 
experience,   and    demand   at  least    a    few    congenial   neighbors    within    easy    reach. 


HOMES     AND     OUT-BUILDINGS     BY     THE     WAYSIDE 


There  is  hardly  any  purely  farming  community  in  New  England  but 
that  has  decreased  in  population  within  the  past  fifty  years.  It  has  been 
the  hill  towns  which  have  suffered  most,  but  the  valley  towns  have  been 
affected  as  well.  It  has  become  the  habit  to  account  all  country  life  dull, 
and  the  city's  superior  liveliness,  and  the  chances  to  earn  ready  money 
offered  by  stores  and  factories,  draw  away  the  life  of  even  the  most  -  favored 
communities.  New  England  is  to-day  much  less  a  region  of  thrifty  Yankee 
farmers  than  it  is  a  land  of  busy  manufacturing  villages.  Of  these,  enter- 
prise and  ingenious  inventiveness  are  characteristic.  They  call  to  them  a  large 
foreign  population  which  fills  the  monotonous  rows  of  tenements  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  mills,  or  in  the  case  of  the  more  thrifty  establishes 
itself  in  little  separate  family  homes  on  the  outskirts.  The  farming  regions 
about  naturally  take  to  market  gardening,  and  these  places  become  the  chief 
buyers  of  produce  for  the  country  miles  about. 

Farming    towns    within    easy    distance    of    the    railroads    usually   attain    a 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 


39 


fair  prosperity,  and  energy  and  forethought  give  good  returns  for  labor 
expended.  The  towns  themselves  with  their  elm-shadowed  streets  are  neatly 
kept,  and  there  is  a  certain  pride  taken  in  the  good  appearance  of  the 
homes  half  hidden  in  the  drooping  foliage.  In  the  remoter  towns  are  found 
thrifty  dairy  farms  here  and  there,  but  the  villages  as  a  whole  are  inclined 
to  look  weatherworn  and  hopeless.  Many  of  the  houses  have  been  strangers 
to  fresh  paint  for  a  score  of  years  or  more ;  and  others,  though  still  inhabited, 
depress  with  their  broken  chimnies,  leaky  roofs,  and  decrepit  out-buildings ; 
while  there  are  not  wanting  the  homes  altogether  deserted,  silent,  broken- 
windowed,  and  sepulchral.  Often  these  upland  towns  are  nearly  barren  of 


well-grown  trees  which  might  add  so  much  to  their  appearance,  and  the  trees 
there  are,  look  wind-blown  and  storm-beaten.  This,  with  the  thin,  weedy 
grasses  which  grow  on  the  opens  before  the  churches,  gives  such  places  an 
accumulated  forlornness. 

It    may    be    possible    to    find    one    of    the    outlying    hamlets     entirely    de- 


40  THE    NEl¥   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 

serted.  There  are  little  villages  where  you  may  find  half  a  dozen  or  more 
forsaken  homes,  and  no  more  than  one  or  two  still  occupied ;  and  the  whole 
village  and  land  is  concentrated  in  one  or  two  big  farms, — big  only  in 
acres,  however.  There  is  slight  attempt,  as  a  rule,  to  keep  up  a  thorough 
tillage.  The  best  of  the  fields  are  gone  over  each  year  and  a  scanty  harvest 
gleaned,  and  it  may  be  questioned  if  equal  labor  on  fewer  acres  would  not 
produce  greater  results.  The  surplus  buildings  of  the  now  depopulated  vil- 
lage receive  slight  care,  and  time  and  decay  deal  hardly  with  them.  The 


HOLDING     THE      HORSES      WHILE      HIS      FATHER      GOES      IN      TO      GET     A      DRINK      OF     WATER 

best  of  them  serve  as  storage  places  for  farm  crops  or  tools.  The  more 
broken-down  are  levied  upon  occasionally  for  a  few  boards  to  mend  a  fence 
or  a  leak  in  one  of  the  neighboring  buildings,  and  so  is  hastened  their  time 
of  complete  ruin. 

Some  places  have  won  the  favor  of  the  summer  visitors,  and  so  have 
gained  renewed  prosperity.  A  few  weeks'  sojourn  far  from  the  heat  and 
noise  of  the  city  on  these  quiet,  breezy  hill-tops  is  no  small  pleasure,  and 
many  a  person  of  means  takes  pride  in  the  cottage  home  he  has  bought 
in  some  nook  he  thinks  especially  favored  by  nature,  and  looks  forward  all 
through  the  lengthening  days  of  the  spring  to  the  time  when  he  can  unlock 
its  door  once  more,  wind  the  clock  in  the  hall,  and  settle  himself  with  his 


THE    NEW  ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


43 


A      DAM      ON     THE     CONNECTICUT 


family  for  the  yearly  vacation.  He  finds  not  a  little  fussing  and  fixing  to 
employ  him  about  the  place,  and  he  saunters  forth  in  his  oldest  suit,  when  the 
notion  takes  him,  to  talk  with  his  neighbors  the  farmers.  The  chances  are  he 
gets  off  his  coat  and  renews  his  youth  by  helping  in  the  hay-field,  and 
there,  like  enough,  the  rest  of  his  flock  hunt  him  out,  and  all  have  a 


AT     THE     RAILROAD     STATION 


44  THE    NEW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 

triumphal     ride     on     the     loaded     cart     behind     the     slow-moving     oxen     to     the 
barn. 

When     the    summer    visitor    came     up     from     the    railroad     station    on    the 
train,     he     noted     the     enticing    look    of    the     little    streams     in   the     hollows,    and 


A     MANUFACTURING     VILLAGE 


the  tinkling  murmur  of  the  waterfalls  sounded  in  his  ear  a  call  to  get 
forth  his  fishing-rod.  He  was  not  long  settled  in  his  vacation  home  before 
the  fishing-tackle  was  forthcoming,  and  he  might  be  seen  with  vast  caution 
and  seriousness  following  up  the  neighboring  brook  through  the  tangled 
woods,  and  across  the  pastures  among  the  rank-growing  ferns  and  grasses, 
casting  the  fly  and  trailing  it  after  the  most  approved  fashion  along  the 
surface  of  the  water,  and  perchance,  if  destiny  favored,  pulling  forth  at  times 
a  dainty  little  trout.  The  streams  are  so  thoroughly  fished  that  at  finger- 
length,  in  the  more  accessible  regions,  the  fish  is  esteemed  a  prize,  Driv- 
ing is  always  in  order.  There  are  glens,  and  waterfalls,  and  high  hills  with 
wonderfully  far  outlooks,  and  delightful  winding  valleys,  to  visit  almost  without 
number. 

On     Sunday    the    summer    visitor     goes    to    the    village     church.       Perhaps 
the    services    are    not    as    brilliant    as    those    to    which    he    is    used,    but   there    is 


THE    NEW  ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


45 


a  comfortable  simplicity  to  the  place,  the  people,  the  sermon,  and  the  singing 
which  charms.  The  visitor  is  often  a  ready  and  valued  helper  in  making  the 
church  and  its  belongings  more  attractive,  and  takes  an  interest  in  the  schools 
and  library  and  appearance  of  the  town,  which  to  many  a  place  has  been 
of  great  assistance.  The  vacation  which  includes,  beside  the  ordinary  out- 
door pleasuring,  some  of  this  sort  of  helpfulness  gives  a  multiplied  satisfaction 
at  its  close. 

The  country  dwellers  of  New  England  are  not  to-day,  in  the  mass,  as 
strong  charactered  and  vigorously  intelligent  as  were  those  of  the  early  part 
of  the  century.  Those  elements  have  found  greater  attraction  and  greater 
chance  of  reward  elsewhere.  It  often  happens  that  thrift  seems  to  dwell 
rather  with  recent  comers  from  across  the  water  than  with  the  older  families. 


THE     RAILWAY-CROSSING      IN     THE     VILLAGE 


This  is  sometimes  claimed  to  be  because  the  first  will  live  more  meanly  than 
the  latter  could  bring  themselves  to.  The  truth  is,  the  new-comers  have  no 
pride  of  family  name  to  sustain,  they  know  attainment  rests  only  on  hard  work, 
and  their  secret  of  success  lies  more  in  their  steady  labor  and  good  business 
habits  than  in  any  meanness  of  living.  The  scions  of  the  old  families  are 
looser  in  their  methods  and  more  reckless  and  showy,  and  far  less  given  to 


46 


THE    NEW    ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


vigorous  work.  They  may  be  heard  to  bewail  over  this  foreign  element  as 
usurpers;  but  in  reality  comers  of  thrift  and  intelligence,  whatever  their  former 
homes,  are  a  help  to  the  town  life.  Hard  work,  saving  habits,  and  the  aspira- 
tion to  give  the  children  of  the  family  an  education,  has  a  healthful  effect  on 
character,  and  win  oftentimes  for  those  growing  up  in  these  homes  culture 
and  practical  ability  equalling  the  best  of  that  of  the  older  families.  If  a 


A     STONE     BRIDGE 


foreign  family  takes  up  with  some  little  house  on  the  outskirts,  it  may  live 
very  shabbily  for  the  first  few  years.  But  the  land  about  is  gradually  brought 
under  full  and  thrifty  tillage,  little  sheds  begin  to  spring  up  behind  the  house, 
by  and  by  a  barn  is  built,  and  then  the  house  is  made  over  and  an  L  added, 
and  the  progress  toward  prosperity  as  presented  to  the  eye  is  a  thing  to  be 
admired.  It  is  almost  always  the  remnants  of  the  worn-out  Yankee  families 
which  come  on  the  town,  and  not  these  foreigners. 

"  Yankee "    has    become    almost    a    synonym    for    ingeniousness,    thrift,  and 
"cuteness."       You     can't    scare     him;     get    him    in    a    tight    place     and     he    will 


THE  NEW  ENGLAND  COUNTRY 


47 


A     GROUP     OF     LITTLE     FISHERMEN 


find  a  way  out ;  set  him  a  task  and  he  will  find  some  way  to  do  it  in  half 
the  time  you  expected ;  make  him  the  butt  of  a  joke  and  he  will  get  even 
with  you  and  pay  heavy  interest;  no  matter  what  part  of  the  earth  you  trans- 
plant him  to  or  the  conditions  you  surround  him  with,  he  accommodates 
himself  to  the  new  circumstances,  and  proceeds  with  alacrity  to  financially 
profit  by  them.  He  is  a  born  arguer,  and  a  born  pedler,  and  a  born  whittler, 
a  Jack-at-all-trades  and  good  at  them  all. 

This,  it  may  be,  is  the  typical  Yankee,  and  without  a  doubt  such  can 
be  found ;  but  not  every  inhabitant  of  New  England  is  made  that  way. 
Yankees  are  of  all  kinds,  and  the  abilities,  virtues,  and  short-comings  are 
much  mixed  in  the  parcelling  out.  The  Yankee  is  a  man  of  opinions,  and 
shows  great  readiness  to  impart  them  to  others ;  but  the  depth  or  shallowness 
of  these  depends  on  the  man.  He  is  inclined  to  slow  speaking  and  nasal 
tones,  and  when  a  question  is  asked  has  a  way  of  turning  it  over  in  his 
mind  once  or  twice  before  he  gives  answer,  often  improving  the  interval  to 
spit  seriously  and  meditatively.  In  bargaining,  whatever  the  amount  involved, 
he  is  given  to  dickering,  crying  down,  or  upholding  the  price,  according 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


as  he  is  buyer  or  seller.  The  thrift}'  man  is  sometimes  simply  the  man 
of  push  and  ability,  sometimes  the  miserly  man  who  drives  sharp  bargains 

and  forecloses  mortgages  when  his 
poor  neighbors  are  in  trouble,  and 
sells  hard  cider  to  the  drinkers ; 
or  he  may  be  one  of  high  stand- 
ing in  church  and  community,  who, 
though  stickling  for  fairness,  is  sure 
to  buy  low  and  sell  high ;  who  is 
up  at  sunrise  in  summer  and  long 
before  daylight  in  winter;  who 
makes  long  days  and  fills  them 

with  hard  work,  and  is  esteemed  a  hard  master  by  sons  and  hired  men ;  who 
lives  frugally,  and  when  it  comes  to  spending,  as  the  saying  goes,  "  squeezes 
the  dollar  until  the  eagle  squeals." 

As  a  rule  Xew  England  country  people  save  nothing  above  expenses, 
and  even  then,  spending  all  they  earn,  can  have  few  more  than  the  most 
common  comforts  o:  life,  and  rarely  a  luxury.  Circumstance  or  some  un- 
toward accident  of  fate  may  bring  this  result,  but  an  unstriving  lack  of 
thrift  is  more  frequently  the  cause.  Those  of  this  class  have  a  way  of 
being  always  a  little  behind  in  what  they  do,  and  there  is  a  dragging  want 


A      COUNTRY      SCHOOL     WATCHING      A      TEAM      GO      BY 


THE 


ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


49 


of  vitality  in  what  they  attempt.  They  arc  a  little  late  in  planting,  a 
little  late  in  harvesting.  The}-  never  get  full  crops,  and  fall  below  the 
best  always  in  quality,  and  are  apt  to  suffer  loss  through  frost  or  foul 
weather.  "The  stitch  in  time  which  saves  nine"  about  their  buildings  they 


AN      OLD      BURYING-GROUND 


do  not  take,  and  these  buildings  lose  boards  here  and  there,  and  presently 
begin  to  sag  and  need  a  prop  to  keep  them  from  coming  down  prone.  So 
crops,  and  animals,  and  farm-tools  are  ill-protected,  and  there  is  increased  loss. 

As  compared  with  the  typical  Southerner,  the  Yankee  has  less  warmth 
of  enthusiasm,  less  open-heartedness  and  chivalry,  but  he  is  steadier  and  has 
greater  staying-power.  The  ne'er-do-well  class  of  the  North  may  wear  their 
hearts  on  their  sleeves  and  be  as  free  as  air  in  their  kindliness  and  generosity , 
but  Yankee  thrift,  however  generous  or  philanthropic,  is  self-controlled  and 
inclined  to  be  reticent  and  politic.  But  though  this  may  lessen  the  charm 
and  poetry  of  it,  there  is  no  doubting  its  increased  effectiveness. 

Thrift    is    apt   to    become    with     the    well-to-do    a   sort    of    passion        The 


5o  THE    NEW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 

lack  of  it  in  a  neighbor  stirs  continued  and  sarcastic  criticism.  On  the 
other  hand,  thrift  easily  runs  into  closeness;  but  the  worshipper  of  thrift  is 
not  mean  and  entirely  selfish  in  this  regard.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  him  to  see 
well-tilled  fields,  even  if  they  belong  to  others,  and  he  has  the  wish  to  make 
what  attracts  him  general.  The  rich  at  their  death  often  leave  their  fortunes 
in  whole  or  in  part  to  some  charity  or  educational  institution  which  will 
further  a  more  general  thrift. 

In    stories    of    New   England     village-life     we    find    a    curious    dialect    used 
by     the     characters.       Quaintness     and     uncouthness     are     both     prominent.       To 


BELOW     THE      DAM 


one  thoroughly  acquainted  with  its  people  these  stones  savor  of  exaggera- 
tion and  caricature.  Ignorance  everywhere  uses  bad  grammar,  whether  in 
town  or  country,  New  England  or  elsewhere.  Isolation  tends  also  to  careless 
speech.  But  the  New  Englander  has  not  either,  as  a  rule,  to  so  marked  a 
degree  as  to  make  him  the  odd  specimen  of  humanity  pictured  in'  books.  Life 
in  the  small  villages  and  on  the  outlying  farms  does  not  present  very  numer- 
ous social  advantages,  and  the  result  is  a  necessity  for  depending  on  one's 
own  resources.  This,  with  those  possessed  of  some  mental  vigor,  develops 
individuality  of  thought  and  stable  and  forceful  character.  In  the  towns  it 
requires  the  consultation  and  help  of  about  half  a  dozen  friends  for  a  young 


THE    NEW  ENGLAND    COUNTRY. 


A      MASSACHUSETTS      MOUNTAIN 


person  to  accomplish  any  given  object,  great  or  small.  On  the  farm,  where 
neighbors  are  few,  the  boy  or  girl  does  his  or  her  own  thinking  and 
working.  Such  have  more  pith  and  point  to  their  brain  movement,  and  in 
after  life  under  as  favoring  circumstances  will  accomplish  more. 


THE      FERRYBOAT 


52 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 


Individuality  expresses  itself  in  manner  and  speech  as  well  as  thought; 
and  odd  ways  and  queer  ideas  and  peculiar  observations  are  to  be  met 
with  very  commonly  in  the  Xew  England  country.  The  heavy  work  brings 
a  certain  amount  of  clumsiness  with  the  strength.  The  rough  clothes  usually 
worn,  and  the  slight  care  given  them,  often  make  an  individual  grotesque, 


A     FALL     ON     THE     CONNECTICUT 


and  the  majority  of  the  workers  attain  to  the  picturesque  in  their  costumes 
with  their  variety  of  patched  and  faded  oldness.  A  peculiarity  of  recent 
years  has  come  with  the  fashion  of  derby  hats.  There  is  a  naturalness 
about  an  old  slouch  hat,  however  ancient,  stained,  and  misshapen.  If  it  does 
not  grow  old  gracefully,  it  at  least  does  so  logically  and  without  reminding 
the  beholder  of  a  more  exalted  past.  But  the  battered  and  leaky  derby 
retains  to  the  last  a  stiff  look  of  aristocracy  which  ill  fits  its  dilapidated 
seediness. 

But  whether  a  man  is  uncouth  or  not  depends  on  other  things  than 
his  occupation.  Neatness  is  a  growth  from  within  rather  than  from  without, 
and  though  no  sensible  farmer  works  in  his  Sunday  clothes  on  week-days. 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


55 


THE     GROWING     BOY     IN     HIS 
LAST     YEAS'S     CLOTHES 


there  are  many  by  whom  you  are  agreeably  impressed,  no 
matter  where  you  meet  them.  A  look  from  the  car  win- 
dow on  a  rainy  day,  as  you  pause  at  the  villages  on 
your  route,  reveals  a  curious  motley  group  hanging  about 
the  platform.  The  depot  is  a  favorite  resort  on  stormy 
days  when  work  is  slack  on  the  farm ;  but  loafing  is  not 
characteristic  of  the  best  of  the  community,  and  it  is 
hardly  fair  to  judge  all  by  the  specimens  who  here  pre- 
sent themselves. 

Indoors,  where  presides  the  housewife,  we  expect 
to  find  neatness  in  supreme  rule,  for  the  New  England 
woman  has  in  that  a  wide  repute.  It  is  to  be  doubted 
if  the  old-time  shining  and  spotless  interiors  which  the 
grandmothers  tell  about  are  as  universal  now  as  for- 
merly. But  house-cleanings  come  with  great  regularity 
in  most  families,  and  the  consumption  of  brooms  and 
scrubbing-brushes  in  New  England  is  something  enormous.  With  the  advent 
of  wall-paper  and  carpets  and  the  great  variety  of  furniture  and  knick-knacks 
now  within  reach,  has  come  a  discontent  with  the  old  simplicity,  and  the 
changes  are  often  not  pleasing.  Taste  runs  too  much  in  wall-paper  and 
carpets  to  dark  colors 
and  pronounced  patterns, 
and  the  rooms  appear 
boxy.  If  much  money 
is  spent  on  furniture  it 
is  apt  to  be  spent  on 
style  rather  than  on  sub- 
stantial and  quiet  com- 
fort. The  pictures  on 
the  walls  are  usually  a 
queer  collection,  from  — 
it  would  be  hard  to  im- 
agine where ;  of  colored 
prints,  engravings  cut 
from  newspapers,  and 
photographs  of  deceased  AT  THE  BACKDOOR 


56  THE    NEW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 

members  of  the  family.  The  science  of  house  decoration  is  something  very 
modern,  and  it  will  take  time  to  learn  how  to  do  it  simply  and  harmoni- 
ously. 

Life's  currents  pursue  a  tangled  course,  and  while  we  catch  many 
strains  of  harmony,  there  are  discordant  notes  of  which  we  rarely  get  entirely 
out  of  hearing.  Xew  England  is  not  perfect,  but  once  to  have  known  is  always 


THE     ACADEMY 


to  love  it,  no  matter  how  far  one  wanders  or  how  fair  new  regions  open 
before  one's  eyes.  Its  changing  seasons,  its  rugged  hills  and  tumbling  streams, 
its  winding  roadways,  its  villages  and  little  farms,  cling  in  the  memory  and 
sing  siren  songs  of  enticement.  Nature  is  sometimes  harsh,  but  she  has 
man}-  moods,  and  nowhere  more  than  here ;  and  if  harsh  sometimes,  she  is 
at  other  times  exceeding  sweet.  In  cold  or  heat,  storm  or  sunshine,  New 
England's  rough  fields  are  still  the  true  Arcadia  to  her  sons  and  daughters. 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 


57 


PART     III 


A     HORSE-CHESTNUT     MAN 


NEW     ENGLAND    AS    THE    TRAVELLER    SEES    IT 

really    see    and    know    New    England    one    must    leave    the    railroads 
and    take    time    for    a    long    tramp    or    drive.       Railroads    are     only 
intended     to    link    together    the    cities    and    larger    towns,    and     they 
seek     the     level     and     monotonous     for    their     routes,     and     pursue 
always    as    straight    and     prosaic     a    course    as    circumstances 
will    admit.       The    view    from    the    windows    of    ragged    banks 
of    earth    or    rock,    where    a    path     has     been    cut    through    a 
hill,     or    of    the     sandy    embankments,    where     a    hollow    has 
been    filled,    and     of    pastures,    swamps,    and    stumpy,    brushy 
acres,    where    the    timber    has    lately    been    cut    off,    are    often 
dismal.        At    the    same    time     the    real     country    as    seen 
from     the     winding,     irregular     roadways     that     link     the 
villages     and     scattered     farms     together     may    be     quite 
cheerful    and    pleasing. 

With  the  purpose  of  seeing  the  real  New  England  in  its  highways 
and  byways,  its  hills  and  val- 
leys, its  nooks  and  corners,  I 
started  out  one  autumn  day 
on  a  buckboard.  I  had  a 
little  bay  horse,  fat  and  good- 
natured,  quite  content  to  stop 
as  often  and  long  as  I  chose, 
and  to  busy  herself  nibbling 
the  grass  and  bushes  by  the 
roadside,  while  I  sketched  or 
photographed.  She  had  a 
decided  disinclination  for  fast 
travelling,  and  wanted  to  walk  AFTERGLOW 


58  THE  NEW  ENGLAND  COUNTRY 

as  soon  as  a  hill  came  in  sight.  But  I  wished  to  go  slowly  in  the  main, 
and  we  got  along  very  agreeably,  though  at  times  I  fear  my  remarks  and 
hints  to  the  creature  between  the  shafts  were  not  complimentary  or  pleasing 
to  that  animal.  Houses  where  one  could  get  a  lunch  at  noon  were  not 
always  handy,  and  I  took  the  precaution  to  carry  along  some  eatables  for 
myself  and  a  few  feeds  of  oats  for  the  horse. 


THE     VILLAGE     CHURCH 


It  was  nine  o'clock  when  I  left  Old  Hadley  in  Central  Massachusetts 
and  turned  northward  up  the  valley.  A  cold  wind  was  blowing,  and  many 
gray  cloud-masses  were  sailing  overhead.  The  region  about  was  one  of  the 
fairest  in  New  England,  —  a  wide,  fertile  valley  basin  stretching  twenty  miles  in 
either  direction.  The  Connecticut  River  loops  through  it  with  many  graceful 
curves,  and  blue  ranges  of  hills  bound  it  on  every  side.  At  intervals  of 
about  ten  miles  on  this  level  you  come  upon  the  few  scores  of  houses, 
which  cluster  about  the  churches  at  the  centre  of  the  towns,  and  there  are 
many  little  hamlets  where  are  lesser  groups  of  homes. 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 


59 


ONE  OF  THE   HUMBLER   HOUSES 


I      was     jogging     across 

some    meadows,    when    I    came 

to     a     few    houses     flanked     by 

numerous       out-buildings       and 

half  hidden  by  the  trees    about 

them.      Some  children   were    by 

the  roadside.      They  had    rakes 

and     a    big    basket,     and     were 

intent   on    gathering    the    maple 

leaves      which       carpeted       the 

ground.         They      stopped      to 

watch    me    as    I    approached. 

'•Take    my   picture," 

cried    a    stout   little   girl,   and    then    threw   the    basket    over   her   head    and    struck 

an    attitude;. 

"  All    right,"    was    my    reply. 

"  Oh !  "    she     said,    "  I    want    my    cat   in,"    and     raced    off     to     the    house 

to    secure   it. 

She    was    no   sooner  back    and    in    position  than  she   found  a  new  trouble. 

She    had    on    a    little    cap   with    a    very  narrow    visor,  and    as    the  sun    had    now 

come    out,    its     bright    light     made     her    eyes    wink.       Suddenly    she     spoke     up 

and     said     the     little     cap     made     her    cry,     and    wanted     to     get    a    hat,     if     I 

would    let   her.     When    she    returned    I    made    haste    to    snap    the   camera    before 

an}-    other    ideas    could    occur    to     her.       We    were    pretty    well     acquainted    by 

the  time  I  finished,  and  she 
wanted  to  know  how  much  I 
charged  for  my  picture,  and 
said  she  guessed  she  would 
get  one  if  I  came  that  way 
again. 

The  town  of  Sunderland 
lay  a  little  tjeyond.  It  is  a 
typical  valley  town,  with  a 
long,  wide  street  lined  by 
elms  and  maples,  thickset  on 
A  DESERTED  HOME  either  side  by  the  white 


6o 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 


A     LOAD     OF     SAWDUST     BACK     OF    THE     SAW-MILL 


houses    of    its    people.       Everything     looked     thrifty    and    well    kept.       The   wind 

blew    gustily,    and    sometimes    would    start    the    leaves    which    had    just    begun    to 

strew   the    ground    beneath    and    send 

windrows     of     them    scurrying     along 

the      road      like      live     armies      on      a 

charge. 

I    was    in     the    village     in     the 
late    afternoon,    when    school    let    out. 
It    was    interesting    to    note    the    way 
the     boys     came     down      the     street 
slamming    about,    shouting,    and    trip- 
ping   each    other   up.       It   seemed    to 
me    there    was     one     sort     of    young- 
ster   who    had    need    to     reform.       You    find    this    variety    in    every  village   where 
half    a    dozen     boys    can     get    together.       He    talks    in    a    loud    voice    when    any 
witnesses     or    a     stranger     is     about,    is     rude     to     his    fellows,    jostles    them     and 
orders    them    about,   cracks    crude    jokes,   either    exceedingly    pointless,   or   else   of 

great  age  and  worn  threadbare,  at  which 
he  himself  has  to  do  a  good  share  of  the 
laughing.  He  is,  in  short,  showing  off, 
and  the  show  is  a  very  poor  one.  He 
makes  himself  both  disagreeable  and  ridicu- 
lous to  most,  and  can  only  win  admiration 
from  a  few  weak-minded  companions  or 

overawed  small  boys. 
He  is  apt  to  !  grow 
into  something  of  a 
bully  among  those 

weaker    than     himself, 

-':;--r' ' 

and  to  become,  when 
older,  a  young  man 
with  a  swagger. 

It  was  October, 
the    days    were    short, 

and     I     had     early    to     seek    a    stopping-place     for    the     night.       It    still     lacked 
something    of    supper-time    when     I     put    my    horse     out    at    one    of    the    farm- 


A      MEADOW      STREAM 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 


61 


houses,  and  I  took  the  opportunity  for  a  walk  on  the  village  street.  The 
damp  gloom  of  evening  had  settled  down.  There  were  lights  in  the  windows 
and  movements  at  the  barns,  and  a  team  or  two  was  jogging  homeward 
along  the  road.  Westward,  in  plain  sight  across  the  river,  was  the  heavy 
spur  of  a  mountain,  dark  against  the  evening  sky.  A  single  little  light  was 
trembling  on  the  summit  of  the  crag.  This  came  from  a  building  known 
as  "  the  prospect  house."  The  proprietor  lives  there  the  year  around,  and 
from  Sunderland's  snug  street,  on  cold  winter  nights,  the  light  is  still  to  be 
seen  sending  out  shivering  rays  into  the  frosty  darkness. 


I  returned  presently  to  the  house  and  had  supper.  That  finished,  the 
small  boy  of  the  family  brought  a  cup  of  boiled  chestnuts,  and  while  we 
munched  them,  explained  how  he  had  picked  up  eighty-one  quarts  of  nuts 
so  far  that  year.  In  his  pocket  the  boy  had  other  treasures.  He  pulled 
forth  a  handful  of  horse-chestnuts,  and  told  me  they  grew  on  a  little  tree 
down  by  the  burying-ground. 

"  The  boys  up  at  our  school  make  men  of  "em,"  he  said.  "  They 
take  one  chestnut  and  cut  a  face  on  it  like  you  do  on  a  pumpkin  for  a 
jack-o'-lantern.  That's  the  head.  Then  they  take  a  bigger  one  and  cut 
two  or  three  places  in  front  for  buttons,  and  make  holes  to  stick  in 


62 


THE    NFW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 


toothpicks  for  legs,  and  they  stick  in  more  for  arms,  and  with  a  little  short 
piece  fasten  the  head  on  the  body.  Then  the}'  put  'em  up  on  the  stove- 
pipe where  the  teacher  can't  get  'em,  and  they  stay  there  all  day.  Some- 


A     DOOR-STEP     GROUP 


times  they  make  caps  for  'em."  He  got  out  his  jack-knife  and  spent  the 
rest  of  the  evening  manufacturing  these  queer  little  men  for  my  benefit. 

The  next  morning  I  turned  eastward  and  went  along  the  quiet, 
pleasant  roads,  now  in  the  woods,  now  among  pastures  where  the  wayside 
had  grown  up  to  an  everchanging  hedge  of  bushes  and  trees.  Much  of 
the  way  was  uphill,  and  I  sometimes  came  out  on  open  slopes  which  gave 
far-away  glimpses  over  the  valley  I  had  left  behind. 

About  noon  I  stopped  to  sketch  one  of  the  picturesque  watering- 
troughs  of  the  region.  There  was  a  house  close  by,  and  a  motherly  look- 
ing old  lady  peeked  out  at  me  from  the  door  to  discover  what  I  was  up 
to.  I  asked  if  I  might  stay  to  dinner.  She  said  I  might  if  I  would 
be  content  with  their  fare,  and  I  drove  around  to  the  barn.  An  old  gentle- 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY. 


63 


man  and  his  hired  man  were  pounding  and  prying  at  a  big  rock  which 
protruded  above  the  surface  right  before  the  wagon-shed.  They  had  blasted 
it,  and  were  now  getting  out  the  fragments.  By  the  time  I  had  my  horse 
put  out,  dinner  was  ready,  and  we  all  went  into  the  house.  We  had  "  a 
boiled  dinner,"  — potatoes,  fat  pork,  cabbage,  beets,  and  squash  all  cooked 
together.  The  dish  was  new  to  me,  but  I  found  it  quite  eatable. 

I  was  again  on  the  road,  jogging  comfortably  along,  when  I  noticed 
two  little  people  coming  across  a  field  close  by.  They  walked  hand  in 
hand,  and  each  carried  a  tin  pail  of  apples.  The  boy  was  a  stout  little 
fellow,  and  the  girl,  a  few  sizes  smaller,  very  fat  and  .pudgy  and  much 
bundled  up.  I  told  them  I'd  like  to  take  their  pictures.  They  didn't  know 
what  to  make  of  that ;  but  I  got  to  work,  and  they  stood  by  the  fence 
looking  at  me  very  seriously.  I  was  nearly  ready  when  a  woman  from  the 
doorway  of  a  house  a  little  ways  back  called  out,  "  Go  right  along,  Georgie ! 
Don't  stop!"  I  told  her  I  wanted  to  make  their  photographs  —  it  wouldn't 
take  but  a  minute.  She  said  they  ought  to  be  dressed  up  more  for  that. 
But  I  said  they  looked  very  nice  as  they  were,  and  hastened  to  get  my 
picture.  Then  the  two  went  toddling  on.  The  boy 
told  me  there  was  a  big  pile  of  apples  back  there ; 
also,  as  I  was  starting  away,  that  his  father  had  just 
bought  a  horse. 

I  took  the  sandy  long  hill  way  toward  Shutes- 
bury,  a  place  famous  for  miles  about  for  its 
huckleberry  crops.  It  is  jokingly  said  that 
this  is  its  chief  source  of  wealth,  and  the 
story  goes  that  "  One  year  the  huckleberry 
crop  failed  up  in  Shutesbury,  and  the  people 
had  nothin'  to  live  on  and  were  all  comin' 
on  to  the  town,  and  the  selectmen  were  so 
scared  at  the  responsibility,  they  all  run 
away." 

The  scattered  houses  began  to  dot  the  way  as  I  proceeded,  and  after 
a  time  I  saw  the  landmarks  of  the  town  centre  —  the  two  churches,  perched  on 
the  highest,  barest  hilltop  eastward.  The  sun  was  getting  low,  and  chilly  even- 
ing was  settling  down.  Children  were  coming  home  from  school ;  men,  who  had 
been  away,  were  returning  to  do  up  their  work  about  the  house  and  barn 


A      ROADSIDE     FRIEND 


64  THE    NEW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 

before  supper,  and  a  boy  was  driving  his  cows  down  the  street.  I  hurried 
on  over  the  hill  and  trotted  briskly  down  into  the  valley  beyond,  but  it 
was  not  long  before  the  road  again  turned  upward.  The  woods  were  all 
about.  In  the  pine  groves,  which  grew  in  patches  along  the  way,  the  ground 
was  carpeted  with  needles,  and  the  wheels  and  horse's  hoofs  became  almost 
noiseless.  There  were  openings  now  and  then  through  the  trunks  and  leaf- 
age, and  I  could  look  far  away  to  the  north-east,  and  see  across  a  wide 
valley  the  tree-covered  ridges  patched  with  evergreens,  and  the  ruddy  oak 
foliage  rolling  away  into  ranges  of  distant  blue,  and,  beyond  all,  Mount 
Monadnock's  heavy  pyramid.  The  sun  was  behind  the  hill  I  was  climbing, 
and  threw  a  massive  purple  shadow  over  the  valley.  Beyond,  the  ridges 


BETTER      THAN      HOEING      ON      A      HOT      DAY 


were  flooded  with  clear  autumn  sunlight.  Far  off  could  be  seen  houses,  and 
a  church  now  and  then  —  bits  of  white,  toy-like,  in  the  distance.  The  east- 
ward shadows  lengthened,  the  light  in  the  woods  grew  cooler  and  grayer, 
and  just  as  I  was  fearing  darkness  would  close  down  on  me  in  the  woods, 
I  turned  a  corner  and  the  hill  was  at  an  end.  There  were  houses  close 
ahead,  and  off  to  the  left  two  church  steeples. 

This  was  New  Salem.  The  place  had  no  tavern,  but  I  was  directed 
to  one  of  the  farm-houses  which  was  in  the  habit  of  keeping  "  transients." 
There  was  only  a  boy  at  home.  His  folks  were  away,  and  he  had  built  a 
fire  in  the  kitchen  and  was  fussing  around,  keeping  an  eye  on  the  window 
in  expectation  of  the  coming  of  the  home  team.  It  arrived  soon  after, 
and  in  came  his  mother  and  sister,  who  had  been  to  one  of  the  valley 
towns  trading  and  visiting.  The  father  was  over  at  "  the  other  farm,"  but 
he  came  in  a  little  later.  Mrs.  Cogswell  told  of  the  day's  happenings,  and 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY  67 

how  she  had  found  a  knife  by  the  roadside.  It  was  "  kind  of  stuck  up," 
and  she  said  she  would  bet  some  old  tobacco-chewer  owned  it.  However, 
Mr.  Cogswell,  having  smelt  of  it,  guessed  not. 

His    wife    now    brought    in    a    blanket    she    had     bought    at    the    "Boston 
Store,"    and    we    all    examined     it,    felt    of    it,    and     guessed    what    it    was    worth. 


THE     PET     OF     THE 


Then  she  told  what  she  paid,  and  how  cheap  she  could  get  various  other 
things,  and  what  apples  would  bring. 

As  we  sat  chatting  after  supper,  Mr.  Cogswell  took  out  his  watch  and 
began  to  wind  it.  It  was  of  the  Waterbury  variety,  and  winding  took  a 
long  time,  and  gave  him  a  chance  to  discourse  of  watches  in  general,  and 
of  this  kind  in  particular.  Frank  had  such  a  watch,  he  said,  and  he  took 
it  to  pieces  and  it  was  about  all  spring. 

"  You  never  saw  such  a  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Cogswell.  "  Why,  it  sprung 
out  as  long  as  this  table." 

"Ho,  as    long   as  this   table!"    said    Mr.   Cogswell;    "it   would   reach  'way 


68  THE    NEW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 

across    the    room."       He    said    his    own    watch    kept    very    good    time    as    a    gen- 
eral   thing,    only    it    needed    winding    twice    a    day. 

I    \vas    out   earl\-    the    next    morning.       The    east   still  held    some  soft  rose 


A     RAINY     DAY 


tints,  streaks  of  fog  lingered  in  the  valley,  and  the  frost  still  whitened  the 
grass.  After  breakfast  I  went  northward,  down  through  the  woods  and  pas- 
tures, into  Miller's  valley.  I  followed  a  winding  ravine  in  which  a  mountain 
brook  went  roaring  over  its  uneven  bed  toward  the  lowland.  I  came  into 
the  open  again  at  the  little  village  of  Wendell  Depot.  It  was  a  barren 
little  clearing,  I  found,  wooded  hills  all  about,  a  railroad  running  through, 
several  bridges,  and  a  dam  with  its  rush  and  roar  of  water ;  a  broad  pond 
lay  above,  and  below,  the  water  foamed  and  struggled  and  slid  away  beneath 
the  arches  of  a  mossy  stone  bridge,  and  hurried  on  to  pursue  its  winding 
way  to  the  Connecticut.  There  was  a  wooden  mill  by  the  stream-side.  It 
was  a  big,  square  structure  with  dirty  walls  and  staring  rows  of  windows. 
No  trees  were  about,  only  the  ruins  of  a  burned  paper-mill,  whose  sentinel 
chimney  still  stood,  a  blackened  monument  of  the  fire.  There  were  a  few 
of  the  plain  houses  built  by  the  mill  for  its  help,  a  hotel,  some  sand-banks, 
a  foreign  population,  a  dark,  hurrying  river,  the  roar  of  a  dam,  long  lines  of 
freight-cars  moving  through,  and  grim  hills  reaching  away  toward  the  sky. 

From     here     I    went    westward,    and     in    the     early   afternoon    crossed    the 
Connecticut    River    and    began    to    follow    up    the    valley    of    the    Deerfield.       I 


THE    NEW  ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


69 


had  to  go  over  a  big  mountain  ridge,  but  after  that  had  comparatively  level 
travelling.  I  went  on  till  long  after  sunset,  and  presently  inquired  of  a  man 
I  met  walking  if  there  were  houses  on  ahead.  He  said  Solomon  Hobbs 
owned  the  nearest  place,  and  lived  up  a  big  hill  a  ways  off  the  main  road. 
A  little  after  I  met  a  team,  and  concluded  to  make  more  definite  inquiry. 
"Can  you  tell  me  where  Mr.  Hobbs  lives?"  I  asked. 

"  Who,  John  ? "    he    questioned    as    he    pulled    in    his    horse. 

"  No,  Solomon,"  I    replied. 

"  Oh,  er,  Solly  !  He  lives  right  up  the  hill  here.  Turn  off  the  next 
road  and  go  to  the  first  house." 

It  was  quite  dark  now,  and  when  I  came  to  the  steep,  rough  rise  of 
the  hill  I  got  out  and  walked  and  led  the  horse.  In  time  I  saw  a  light 


A    HAMLET     AMONG     THE     HILLS 


on  ahead,  and  I  drove  into  the  steep  yard.  I  had  my  doubts  about  stop- 
ping there  when  I  saw  how  small  the  house  and  barn  were.  A  man  responded 
to  my  knock  on  the  door  and  acknowledged  to  the  name  of  Solomon  Hobbs. 
He  was  a  tall,  broad-shouldered,  long-bearded  farmer,  apparently  about  fifty 
years  of  age.  He  had  on  heavy  boots  and  was  in  his  checked  shirt- 
sleeves. He  didn't  know  about  keeping  me  overnight,  but  their  supper  was 


7o  THE    NEW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 

juj-.t  read}-,  and  I  might  stay  to  that  if  I  wanted  to.  He  directed  me  to 
hitch  my  horse  to  a  post  of  the  piazza  and  come  in.  On  a  low  table  was 
spread  a  scant\-  meal.  Codfish  was  the  most  prominent  dish  on  the  board. 
After  eating,  I  was  ushered  into  the  little  parlor,  for  they  had  certain  pictures  of 
the  scenery  thereabout  they  wished  me  to  see.  Mr.  Hobbs  brought  along  his 
lantern  and  set  it  on  the  mantel-piece.  It  remained  there  though  Mrs.  Hobbs 
came  in  and  lit  a  gaudy  hanging-lamp.  She  was  a  straight  little  woman 
with  short  hair,  rather  curly  and  brushed  up,  wore  earrings,  did  not  speak 


SUMMER  SUNLIGHT  IN  A  "GORGE  ROAD1 


readily,  and  acted  as  if  her  head  did  not  work  first-rate.  The  little  boy, 
who  was  the  third  member  of  the  family,  came  in  also.  There  was  an  iron, 
open  fireplace  with  charred  sticks,  ashes,  and  rubbish  in  it.  The  carpet  on 
the  floor  seemed  not  to  be  tacked  down,  and  it  gathered  itself  up  in  bunches 
and  folds.  The  sofa  and  marble-topped  centre-table  and  many  of  the  chairs 
were  filled  with  papers,  books,  boxes,  and  odds  and  ends. 

There  was  some  doubt  as  to  where  the  pictures  were,  and  it  required 
considerable  hunting  in  books  and  albums  and  cupboards  and  boxes  and  top- 
shelves  to  produce  them.  I  did  not  notice  that  they  put  up  any  of  the  things 
they  pulled  down.  Mr.  Hobbs  said  of  his  wife  that  she  had  been  in  poor 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


ONE     OF     THE      LITTLE      RIVERS 


health  for  a  year  past,  and  hadn't  been  able  to  keep  things  in  order.  When 
I  had  examined  the  pictures  I  got  ready  to  start  on.  Mr.  Hobbs  said  there 
was  a  hotel  a  mile  up  the  road.  I  unhitched  my  horse,  and  the  little  boy, 
with  a  lantern,  ran  before  me  and  guided  me  through  the  gateway. 

At  the  hotel,  when  I  had  made  the  horse  comfortable  in  the  barn  I 
betook  myself  to  the  bar-room,  where  a  brisk  open  fire  was  burning.  A  number 
of  men  were  loafing  there,  most  of  them  smoking.  One  was  a  tall,  stout- 
figured  man  who  was  always  ready  to  back  his  opinion  with  a  bet  of  a 
certain  number  of  dollars,  and  quoted  knowledge  gained  a  year  when  he  was 
selectman  to  prove  statements  about  the  worth  of  farms. 

The  proprietor  of  the  place  was  a  young  man,  with  small  eyes  rather 
red  with  smoke  or  something  else,  a  prominent  beaklike  nose,  a  mustache, 
and  receding  chin.  He  had  an  old,  straight,  short  coat  on,  and  he  had  thin 
legs,  and  looked  very  much  like  some  sort  of  a  large  bird.  He  had  a  very 
sure  way  of  speaking,  and  emphasized  this  sureness  by  the  manner  in  which 
he  would  withdraw  his  cigar,  half  close  his  little  eyes,  and  puff  forth  a  thin 
stream  of  tobacco  smoke. 


/2  THE    NEW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 

In  the  morning  I  was  out  just  as  the  sun  looked  over  some  cloud 
layers  at  the  eastern  horizon  and  brightened  up  the  misty  landscape.  I  left 
the  hotel,  and  soon  was  on  my  way  up  the  Deerfield  River  into  the  moun- 
tains. It  was  a  fine  day,  clear  at  first,  and  with  many  gray  clouds  sailing 
later.  I  jogged  on  up  and  down  the  little  hills  on  the  road  which  kept 


m 


THE     VILLAGE      GROCERYMAN 


along  the  winding  course  of  the  river.  All  the  way  was  hemmed  in  by 
great  wooded  ridges  which  kept  falling  behind,  their  places  to  be  filled  by 
new  ones  at  every  turn.  The  stream  made  its  noisy  way  over  its  rough 
bed,  and  every  now  and  then  a  freight  train  would  go  panting  up  the  grade 
toward  the  Hoosac  Tunnel,  or  a  passenger  train  in  swifter  flight  would  sweep 
around  the  curve  and  hurry  away  to  the  world  beyond. 

A  little  off  the  road  in  one  place  was  a  log  house,  a  sight  so  unusual 
in  old  Massachusetts  that  such  rare  ones  as  one  may  come  across  always 
have  a  special  air  of  romance  and  interest  about  them.  This  had  a  pleasant 
situation  on  a  level,  scooped  out  by  nature  from  the  lofty  ridge  which  over- 
shadowed it.  It  was  made  of  straight,  small  logs,  laid  up  cob-fashion,  chinked 
with  pieces  of  boards  and  made  snugger  with  plaster  on  the  inside.  It  had 
a  steep  roof  of  overlapping  boards,  through  which  a  length  of  rusty  stove- 
pipe reached  upwards  and  smoked  furiously.  There  was  a  spring  before  the 


THE     'NEW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 


73 


door,  which  sent  quite  a  little  stream  of  water  through  a  V-shaped  trough 
into  an  old  flour-barrel.  There  were  some  straggling  apple-trees  about,  and 
behind  the  house  a  little  slab  barn.  Inside  was  a  bare  room,  floored  with 
unplaned  boards.  There  was  a  bed  in  one  corner,  a  pine  table  in  another, 
and  a  rude  ladder  led  to  a  hole  in  the  upper  flooring,  where  was  a  second 
room.  The  only  occupant  then  about  was  cooking  dinner  on  the  rusty 
stove.  Light  found  its  way  through  two  square  windows  and  through  certain 
cracks  and  crevices  in  the  wall. 

I  followed  the  rapid  river,  on,  up  among  the  wild  tumble  of  mountains 
which  raised  their  gloomy  rock-ribbed  forms  on  every  side.  The  regions 
seemed  made  by  Titans,  and  for  the  home  of  rude  giants,  not  of  men. 
Presently  a  meadow  opened  before  me,  and  across  it  lay  the  little  village  of 
Hoosac.  The  great  hills  swept  up  skyward  from  the  level,  and  here  and 
there  in  the  cleared  places  you  could  see  bits  of  houses  perched  on  the 


AN      OUTLYING     VILLAGE 


dizzy    slope,    and    seeming    as    if  they    might    get    loose    and    come    sliding  down 
into   the   valley   almost    any    day. 

At  the  tunnel  was  a  high  railroad  bridge  spanning  the  river,  a  long 
freight  train  waiting,  a  round  signal  station,  a  few  houses,  and  the  lines  of 
iron  rails  running  into  the  gloomy  aperture  in  the  side  of  the  hill.  This 
was  in  a  sort  of  ravine,  and  so  somewhat  secluded  and  holding  little  sug- 


74 


THE    NEIY    ENGLAND     COUNTRY 


gestion  of  its  enormous  length  of  over  four  miles.  Some  sheep  were  feed- 
ing on  a  grass\-  hillside  just  across  the  track,  and  looking  back  upon  them 
they  made  a  very  pretty  contrast  to  the  wild  scenery.  The  hills  mounded 
up  all  about;  the  sun  in  the  west  silvered  the  water  of  the  rapid  river;  a 
train  waiting  below  the  iron  span  of  the  bridge  sent  up  its  wavering  white 
plume  of  smoke ;  and  here  on  the  near  grassy  slope  were  the  sheep  quietly 
feeding. 

The     road      wound      on     through     the     same     romantic    wildness ;      now    a 
mountain    would    shoot    up    a    peak   steeper    and    higher  than   those  surrounding; 


A     VILLAGE     VIEW      IN      A      HALF-WOODED      DELL 


but    none    of    them    seemed    to    have    names.       As    one    of    the    inhabitants    ex- 
pressed   it,    "  They   are    too    common    round    here    to    make    any   fuss    over." 

In  the  late  afternoon,  after  a  hard  climb  up  the  long  hills,  I  passed 
Monroe  Bridge,  where  in  the  deep  ravine  was  a  large  paper-mill.  The  road 
beyond  was  muddy  and  badly  cut  up  by  teams,  and  progress  was  slow.  I 
expected  to  spend  the  night  at  Monroe  Church,  which  I  understood  was  three 
miles  farther  up,  but  I  got  off  the  direct  route  and  on  to  one  of  the  side 
roads.  The  sun  had  disappeared  behind  the  hills  and  a  gray  gloom  was 
settling  down.  The  road  kept  getting  worse.  It  was  full  of  ruts  and  bog- 


THE    NEW  ENGLAND    COUNTRY  75 

holes.       Like    most    of   the    roads    of   the    region,    the    way    followed     up     a    hol- 
low,   and    had    a    brook    by    its    side    choked    up    with    great    boulders.       I   came 


f 


THE     OLD      WELL-SWEEP 


upon  bits  of  snow,  and  thought  there  were  places  where  I  could  scrape  up  a 
very  respectable  snowball. 

After  a  time  I  met  a  team  and  stopped  to  inquire  the  way  to  the 
church,  and  the  distance.  The  fellow  hailed  had  a  grocery  wagon,  and  no  doubt 
had  been  delivering  goods.  He  seemed  greatly  pleased  by  my  question ;  in 
fact,  was  not  a  little  overcome,  showed  a  white  row  of  teeth  beneath  his 
mustache,  and  he  quite  doubled  up  in  his  amusement.  He  said  he  did  not 
know  where  the  church  was ;  and  he  guessed  I  wasn't  much  acquainted  up 
in  these  parts;  said  he  wasn't  either.  He  stopped  to  laugh  between  every 
sentence.  He  apparently  thought  he  was  the  only  man  from  the  outside 
world  who  ever  visited  these  regions,  and  now  was  tickled  to  death  to  find 
another  fellow  had  blundered  into  his  district.  There  was  no  church  about 
there,  he  said ;  I  must  be  pretty  badly  mixed  up ;  this  was  South  Readsboro', 
Vermont.  "  This  is  the  end  of  the  earth,"  he  said.  He  kept  on  laughing  as 
he  contemplated  me,  and  I  got  away  up  the  road  as  soon  as  I  could,  while 
he,  still  chuckling  to  himself,  drove  down. 

The    snow    patches    become    larger    and     more    numerous,    and    soon    I 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 


came  into  an  open  and  saw  a  village  up  the  hill.  This  was  October, 
and  the  sight  ahead  was  strange  and  weird.  The  roofs  of  the  buildings  were 
white  with  snow ;  there  were  scattered  patches  of  it  all  about,  and  a  high 
pasture  southward  was  completely  covered.  It  seemed  as  if  I  had  left  reali- 
ties behind ;  as  if  in  some  way  I  was  an  explorer  in  the  regions  of  the  far 
north;  as  if  here  was  a  little  town  taken  complete  possession  of  by  the  frost; 
as  if  no  life  could  remain,  and  I  would  find  the  houses  deserted  or  the  in- 
habitants all  frozen  and  dead.  There  was  a  little  saw-mill  here  and  some 
big  piles  of  boards ;  everywhere  marks  of  former  life ;  but  the  premature  frost 
seemed  to  have  settled  down  like  a  shroud  on  all  about.  I  entered  the 
village  and  found  a  man  working  beside  a  house,  and  learned  from  him 
that  I  had  still  three  miles  to  travel  before  I  came  to  the  church. 

I    took    a    steep    southward    road    and    led    the    horse,  with   frequent    rests, 
up    the     hills, 
been    fast    eath- 


set  colors  had 
bright  star 
west,  and  at  its 
cloud  mas  s 
from  the  hori- 
boring  fields 


IN      HAYING     TIME 


Darkness  had 
ering,  the  un- 
faded,  one 
glowed  in  the 
right  a  gloomy 
reached  up 
zon.  The  neigh- 
got  more  and 


more  snow-covered,  until  the  black  ribbon  of  the  muddy  road  was  about  the 
only  thing  which  marred  their  whiteness.  There  were  rocky  pastures  about, 
intermitting  with  patches  of  woodland.  Here  and  there  were  stiff  dark  lines 
of  spruce  along  the  hilltops,  and  these,  with  the  white  pastures,  made  the 
country  seem  like  a  bit.  of  Norway.  Snow  clung  to  the  evergreen  arms  of 
the  spruces  and  whitened  the  upper  fence-rails,  and  the  muddy  trail  of  the 
road  ceased  in  the  crisp  whiteness. 

I  was  going  through  a  piece  of  woods  when  I  saw  a  house  ahead 
with  a  glow  of  light  in  a  window.  I  went  past  the  friendly  light.  The 
dreary  road  still  stretched  on.  No  church  was  in  sight,  and  I  drew  up  and 
ran  back  to  the  house.  A  man  came  to  the  back  door  with  a  lamp.  He 
said  it  was  still  two  miles  to  the  church,  and  I  asked  if  I  might  stay  over- 
night. Soon  I  had  my  horse  in  the  yard  and  was  comfortably  settled  by 
the  kitchen  fire.  The  kitchen  was  large,  but  the  long  table,  the  stove,  a 
bed,  and  the  other  furniture  made  it  rather  cramped  when  the  whole  family 


THE    NEW  ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


77 


were  indoors.  There  were  grandpa,  and  grandma,  and  "  Hen  "  and  his  wife, 
and  "  Bucky,"  and  "  Sherm,"  and  "  Sis,"  and  Dan,  and  little  Harry,  not 
to  mention  a  big  dog  and  several  cats.  After  supper,  grandma  fell  to 
knitting  with  some  yarn  of  her  own  spinning ;  grandpa  smoked  his  pipe  and 
told  bear  stories;  "Hen"  mended  a  broken  ramrod  so  that  his  gun  might 
be  ready  for  a  coon  hunt  he  was  planning;  Mrs.  "Hen"  sewed;  "Sherm" 
and  "  Bucky  "  were  in  a  corner  trying  to  swap  hats,  neckties,  etc.,  and  "  Sis  " 
was  helping  them ;  Dan  ran  some  bullets  which  he  made  out  of  old  lead-pipe 
melted  in  the  kitchen  fire;  and  Harry  circulated  all  about,  and  put  the  cats 
through  a  hole  cut  for  them  in  the  cellar  door,  and  climbed  on  the  chairs 
along  the  walls,  and  picked  away  the  plastering  at  sundry  places  where  the 
lath  was  beginning  to  show  through. 

Bedtime  came  at  nine  and  I  was  given  a  little  room  partitioned  off  in 
the  unfinished  second  story.  In  the  first  gray  of  the  next  morning  a  loud 
squawking  commenced  outside  of  so  harsh  and  sudden  a  nature  as  to  be  quite 
alarming  to  the  unaccustomed  ear.  Later  I  learned  this  was  the  flock  of  ducks 


THE  STREAM   AND  THE  ELMS   IN  THE   MEADOW 


78  THE    NFW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 

and  geese  which  had  gathered  about  the  house  to  give  a  morning  salute. 
The  wind  was  whistling  about,  and  came  in  rather  freely  at  the  missing 
panes  in  my  window.  As  soon  as  I  heard  movements  below  I  hastened 
downstairs.  The  two  fellows  in  the  bed  in  the  unfinished  part  adjoining  my 
room  were  still  snoozing,  and  there  were  scattered  heaps  of  clothing  about  the 
floor. 

There    was    no    one    in    the     kitchen,    and    though     the    stove    lid   was     off, 
no    fire   had  vet  been  started.       I    heard    old    Mr.    Yokes  out   in  the    back    room. 


UNDER     THE     OLD      SYCAMORE 


"'Bout   time    ye    was    gettin'   up,"    he    called    to    me. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "I  heard  you  stirring,  and  thought  it  must  be  about 
time  to  turn  out." 

"Oh,  it's  you,  is  it?  I  thought  'twas  one  of  the  boys.  They  didn't 
bring  in  no  kindlings  last  night." 

He  sat  down  by  the  stove  and  went  to  whittling  some  shavings.  He 
had  not  yet  got  on  either  shoes  or  stockings.  One  by  one  the  rest  of  the 


THE    NEW  ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


81 


family  straggled  in,  and  the  fire  began  to  glow  and  the  heat  to  drive  out 
the  frostiness  of  the  kitchen  atmosphere.  Outdoors  the  weather  was  threat- 
ening, and  there  were  little  drives  of  sleet  borne  down  on  the  wings  of  the 


ONE    OF    THE    OLD     VILLAGE    STREETS 


wind.  After  breakfast  I  concluded  to  leave  this  land  of  winter  and  followed 
down  one  of  the  steep  roads  into  the  autumn  region  of  the  Deerfield  valley. 
By  brisk  travelling  I  succeeded  by  close  of  day  in  getting  to  the  quiet 
meadows  along  the  Connecticut.  It  had  been  a  five  days'  journey.  I  saw 
only  a  little  patch  of  New  England,  and  the  description  is  necessarily  frag- 
mentary ;  but  at  least  there  is  presented  characteristic  phases  of  its  nature  and 
life  as  the  traveller  on  a  leisurely  journey  may  see  them. 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


PART    IV 


CAMPING    AMONG    THE     NEW    ENGLAND     HILLS 

IT  was  a  warm  night  of  midsummer.  In  a  secluded  hollow  of  the  Green 
Mountain  ranges  of  lower  Vermont  was  pitched  a  small  white  tent.  A  half- 
moon  was  shining  softly  through  the  light  cloud-hazes  overhead,  and  had 
you  been  there,  you  could  have  made  out  the  near  surroundings  without 
much  difficulty.  Tall  woods  were  all  about,  but  here  was  a  little  open 
where  grasses  and  ferns  and  low  bushes  grew  in  abundance,  and  on  a 
chance  level  of  the  steep,  uneven  hillside  the  campers  had  pitched  their 


THE      HOUSE      WITH      THE      BARN      ACROSS     THE      ROAD 


tent.  In  the  deep,  tree-filled  ravine  close  below  was  a  stream,  whence 
came  the  sound  of  its  fretting  among  the  rocks,  and  from  a  little  farther 
up  the  solemn  pounding  of  a  waterfall.  From  the  other  direction  came  a 
different  sound.  It  was  the  gentle  clinking  of  a  hammer  on  an  anvil. 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


A      WARM      SUMMER      DAY 


On    the    farther    side    of  the    narrow    strip    of  woods,   which    shut   it   from    sight, 
was    a    farmhouse,    and    it    was    thence    came  the    sound    of   hammering. 

The  tent  has  two  occupants.  They  are  both  young  fellows,  who  had 
on  the  day  previous  started  from  their  Boston  homes  for  a  vacation  trip  to 
the  woods.  In  the  city  they  were  clerks,  —  one  in  a  store,  the  other  in 
a  bank.  The  chance  that  brought  them  to  this  particular  spot  for  their 
vacation  was  this:  a  school  friend  of  theirs,  who  was  blessed  (or  perhaps 
otherwise)  with  more  wealth  than  they,  and  who  was  next  year  to  be  a 
senior  in  Harvard,  had  informed  them  a  few  weeks  previous  that  his  folks 
were  going  to  the  Groveland  House  for  the  summer.  This,  he  said,  was  in 
the  centre  of  one  of  the  prettiest  and  most  delightful  regions  of  all  New 
England,  and  he  urged  his  friends,  Clayton  and  Holmes,  to  by  all  means  go 
along  too.  He  expatiated  on  the  beauties  of  the  place  with  such  an 
eloquence  (whether  natural  or  acquired  at  Harvard,  I  know  not)  that  these 
two  gave  up  the  idea  of  a  trip  they  had  been  planning  down  the  coast 
and  turned  their  thoughts  inland. 


84  THE    NEW  ENGLAND    COUNTRY 

But  when  they  came  to  study  the  hotel  circular  that  Alliston  gave 
them,  and  noted  the  cost  of  board  per  week,  this  ardor  received  a  dampener 

"  Phew !  "  said  Holmes,  "  we  can't  stand  that.  I  don't  own  our  bank 
yet." 

"  No,  we  can't,  that's  a  fact,"  said  Clayton.  "  I'd  want  more  of  a 
raise  in  my  pay  than  I  expect  to  get  for  years  before  I  could  afford  that 
sum.  The  dickens!  I  thought  these  country  places  were  cheap  always  — 


AT     WORK     IN     HER     OWN     STRAWBERRY     PATCH 

and  here's  a  little  place  we've  never  heard  of  that  charges  more  than  half 
our  big  hotels  here  in  Boston." 

"  Well,  we've  got  to  give  up  that  idea,  then,"  Holmes  said.  "  I  suppose, 
though,  we  might  find  a  place  at  some  farmhouse  that  wouldn't  charge  too 
high." 

"  The  trouble  is,"  Clayton  responded,  "  that  I  don't  like  to  go  poking 
off  into  a  region  where  we  don't  know  a  soul,  and  take  our  chances  of  find- 
ing a  comfortable  stopping-place  at  the  right  price.  Then,  you  see,  it's 
going  to  cost  like  anything  getting  there — just  the  fare  on  the  railroad.  I 
don't  know  as  we  ought  to  have  considered  the  thing  at  all." 


THE    NEW  ENGLAND    COUNTRY.  87 

"  I  hate  to  give  it  up,"  said  Holmes.  "  We've  seen  a  good  deal  of 
the  shore,  but  have  had  hardly  a  sight  of  the  country.  It  would  be  a 
great  thing,  for  a  change,  to  take  that  trip  to  Vermont.  Now,  why  couldn't 
we  try  camping  out?  That's  what  the  youngsters  do  in  all  the  small  boys' 
books  I've  ever  read.  We're  rather  older  than  the  boys  who  were  in  the 
habit  of  doing  that  sort  of  thing  in  the  books.  But  then,  you  know,  that 
may  be  a  good  thing.  It  may  have  given  us  a  chance  to  accumulate  wis- 
dom sufficient  to  avoid  those  hairbreadth  adventures  the  youngsters  were 
always  having.  They  are  good  enough  to  read  about,  but  deliver  me  from 
the  experience." 

"Harry,"    said    Clayton,    "I    believe    that's    a    good  idea." 

The    conversation    and    thinkings    necessary    to    settle     the    details    were 
many    and    lengthy,    and    I    forbear 
repeating     them.        The     long    and 

short    of    it     is    that    on     Monday,  "'^j 

August  14,  in  the  earliest  gray  of 
the  morning,  they  were  on  the 
train  that  was  to  carry  them  to 
the  Vermont  paradise  they  had  in 
mind. 

John    Clayton,  as  luck  would  EVENING 

have     it,     worked     in     a    dry-goods 

house,  and  therefore  in  planning  a  tent  he  was  enabled  to  get  the  cloth  for  its 
makeup  at  a  trifle  above  cost.  He  and  Harry  made  numerous  visits  to  the 
public  library  on  spare  evenings  and  consulted  a  variety  of  volumes  devoted 
more  or  less  directly  to  the  science  of  camping  out.  The  amount  of  infor- 
mation they  got  on  the  subject  was  rather  bewildering,  but  they  simplified 
it  down  to  a  few  things  absolutely  necessary  to  think  of  beforehand,  and 
concluded  to  trust  to  commonsense  for  solving  further  problems. 

"  Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof,"  said  Harry,  who  at- 
tended Sunday-school  regularly. 

The  cloth  used  for  the  tent  was  cotton  drilling.  John's  mother 
sewed  the  strips  together  under  his  direction,  and  their  landlady  allowed 
him  to  set  it  up  in  the  little  paved  square  of  yard  back  of  the  block,  and 
there  he  and  Harry  gave  it  a  coat  of  paint  to  make  it  waterproof.  The 
whole  thing  did  not  cost  three  dollars,  and,  as  the  boys  said,  "  It'll  last  us 


88 


THE    NEW  ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


A      LOAD      OF     WOOD      ON      THE     WAY      UP     TO     THE     VILLAGE 


a  good  many  seasons." 
Aside  from  their  tent 
they  purchased  a  small 
hatchet,  a  ball  of  stout 
t\vine,  a  few  nails,  a 
lantern,  and  some  tin 
pails,  cups,  and  plates, 
and  several  knives,  forks, 
and  spoons. 

It  had  been  a 
question  just  where  their 
camping-place  should  be. 
"  We  can't  very  well 
pitch  our  tent  in  the 
hotel  yard,"  said  Harry. 
"  That  high-priced  pro- 
prietor wouldn't  allow  it,  I'm  sure;  and,  besides,  we  shouldn't  want  to." 

Another  perusal  of  the  summering-place  circular  disclosed  the  fact 
that  it  gave  a  list  of  the  attractions  of  the  region  about,  with  certain  com- 
ments thereon.  Among  the  rest  was  noted  a  waterfall  seventy  feet  high. 
It  was  amid  surroundings,  so  the  circular  said,  exceedingly  beautiful  and 
romantic  (whatever  that  may  be).  The  boys  thought  that  style  of  place 
would  suit  them  to  a  T,  and  Harry,  who  carried  the  circular  about  in  his 
pocket,  got  it  out  at  the  bank  the  next  day  after  this  decision  was  arrived 
at  and  underscored  this  waterfall  with  red  ink. 

In  the  late  afternoon  of  August  I4th  the  two  were  set  down,  "bag 
and  baggage,"  at  the  forlorn  little  station  which  was  the  railroad  terminus 
of  their  journey.  To  the  left  was  a  high  sand  bluff,  half  cut  away, 
crowned  with  a  group  of  tall  pines.  A  little  up  the  tracks  was  a  deep, 
stony  ravine  where  a  little  river  sent  up  a  low  murmur  from  the  depths. 
This  was  spanned  by  a  high  railroad  trestle,  and  when  the  train  rumbled 
away  across  it  and  disappeared  around  the  curve  of  a  wooded  slope,  the 
boys  watched  the  curls  of  smoke  fade  into  thin  air  and  felt  a  bit  home- 
sick. Beyond  was  a  small  freight-house,  but  no  other  buildings  were  in 
sight.  It  was  a  little  clearing  in  the  midst  of  the  woods.  The  only  path 
leading  away  was  the  road,  which  made  a  turn  about  the  near  sand  bluff, 


THE    'NEW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


89 


and  then  was  lost  to  sight.  At  the  rear  of  the  depot  was  a  smart  stage- 
coach, into  which  a  group  of  people  were  being  helped  by  a  slick  foot- 
man. This  coach  was  an  attachment  of  the  Groveland  House.  "  Were  the 
young  gentlemen  bound  for  the  hotel?" 

"  No,"  said  Clayton,  "  we're  not  going  to  the  hotel.  Isn't  there  any 
other  coach?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  but  that  leaves  here  at  two  o'clock.  It  has  a  long  route 
through  the  different  villages,  over  the  hills,  delivering  the  mail  and  other 
truck.  If  it  waited  for  the  four-thirty  train  it  would  hardly  get  around 
before  midnight." 

"  We're  much  obliged,"  said  Clayton,  and  the  two  went  back  to  the 
front  platform  and  sat  down  on  their  baggage. 

"  We  won't  go  up  to  that  hotel  if  we  have  to  pitch  our  tent  here 
on  the  sand  back  of  the  depot,"  said  John. 

They  heard  the  coach  rattle 
briskly  away  up  the  road,  and  the 
depot-master  stamping  aro'und  in- 
side. He  came  out  presently,  and 
after  locking  the  front  door  ap- 
proached them.  "  Expectin'  some 
one  to  meet  ye?"  he  asked.  He 
was  a  stout  figured  man,  with  a 
smooth,  round,  good-natured  face 
that  won  the  boys'  confidence  at 
once. 

"  No,"  John  said,  "  we  don't 
know  any  one  about  here.  We 
came  on  a  little  camping  trip. 
You  see  in  Boston  there  are 
horse-cars  running  every  which  way 
that  take  you  anywhere  you  want 
to  go,  and  I  s'pose  we've  got  so 
used  to  them  that  we  never  thought 
of  having  any  trouble  in  getting 
to  the  place  we  wanted  to  go  to, 
though  this  is  out  in  the  country."  A  WATERFALL  IN  THE  WOODS 


go  THE    NEW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 

"Oh,  ye  came  from  Boston,  did  ye?  I  kinder  thought  ye  was  city 
fellers.  Guess  ye'll  find  horse-cars  in  these  parts  about  as  scarce  as  hen's 
tecth  —  just  about.  Whare  was  ye  thinkin'  of  goin',  anyhow?" 

"  We    were    going    to    Rainbow    Falls." 

"  Rainbow  Falls?  Well,  now,  you've  got  me.  I  do'no'  as  I  ever  heared 
of  'em.  Where  be  the}'?" 

Harry  whipped  out  his  circular.  "Why,  here  they  are,"  he  said. 
"  See !  right  here  under  this  heading,  '  Nature's  Attractions  in  the  Drives 
about  Groveland,'  "  and  he  pointed  to  the  line  underscored  with  red  ink. 


A     PANORAMA     OF     HILLS      AND     VALLEYS 


The  station  agent  set  down  the  two  lanterns  he  had  in  his  hand  and 
drew  a  spectacle  case  from  his  vest  pocket.  "  Sho,"  said  he,  when  he  got 
his  glasses  adjusted,  "  '  Rainbow  Falls,'  so  'tis.  '  Surroundings  exceedingly 
beautiful  and  rheumatic '-  — er,  no,  it's  romantic  it  says,  I  guess;  the  letters 
is  blotted  a  little.  Seventy  feet  high,  it  says.  Well,  now,  I  don't  know  what 
that  is,  unless  it's  the  falls  over  at  Jones'  holler.  The  hotel  folks  have  gone 
and  put  a  new-fangled  name  onto  it,  I  guess.  There  never's  been  any 
'  rainbow '  about  it  that  I've  ever  heared  of." 


THE    NEW  ENGLAND    COUNTRY  91 

"Is    it    a   good    place    to    camp    out,    should    you    think?"    asked    John. 
"  Well,    yes ;     pretty     good,     if    you    like     it,"    was    the    reply.     "  Now,    if 
you    fellers    want    to    get   up    there    to-night,    there's    some     houses    up    the     road 


A      PASTURE     GROUP 


here  a  few  steps,  and  I  presume  ye  can  hire  some  one  to  get  ye  up  there 
if  ye  want  to." 

"How    far    is    it?"    Harry   asked. 

"I  should  say  it  was  five  miles  or  something  like  that,"  said  the  man; 
and  he  walked  off  down  the  track 

"  Now,"  said  Johp,  "  we  must  wake  up.  I  see  no  signs  of  houses, 
but  we'll  follow  up  the  road." 

The  result  was  that  a  short  walk  brought  them  to  a  little  group  of 
habitations,  and  they  accosted  a  farmer  boy  who  was  weeding  in  a  garden 
and  made  known  their  wants.  He  would  take  them  up,  he  said,  if  his  folks 
would  let  him. 

"How    much    would    you    charge?"  asked    Harry. 

"  Well,  I  do'no',"  said  the  boy.  "  It's  goin'  to  be  considerable  trouble, 
and  it's  a  good  five  miles  the  shortest  way,  and  hard  travellin',  too,  some  of 
the  way.  I  should  think  'twould  be  worth  thirty-five  cents,  anyhow." 

"  We'll    pay   you    fifty,"    said    John,   "  if  you'll    hurry  up  with  your  team." 


02  THE    NEW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 

"  I'll    have    to    ask    ma    first,"    the    boy    replied. 

He  went  to  the  house,  and  the  two  outside  heard  a  low- toned  con- 
versation, and  a  woman  looked  out  at  them  from  behind  some  half-closed 
blinds.  Then  out  came  Jimmy  with  a  rush  and  said  he  could  go.  Ke  took 
pains  to  get  his  hoe  from  the  garden,  which  he  cleaned  by  rubbing  off  the 
dirt  with  his  bare  foot  before  hanging  it  up. 

"  Have  ye  got  much  luggage?  "  he  asked.  "  'Cause  if  ye  have  we 
c'n  take  the  rack  wagon.  The  express  wagon's  better,  though,  if  ye  haven't 
got  much.  That  old  rack's  pretty  heavy." 

The  lighter  vehicle,  which  proved  to  be  a  small  market  wagon,  was 
plenty  large  enough,  and  into  that  was  hitched  the  stout  farm-horse,  and 
the  three  boys  clambered  up  to  the  seat. 

"  Git  up  !  "  cried  Jimmy,  cracking  his  whip,  and  away  they  rattled 
down  to  the  depot. 

"  Now,"  said  Jimmy,  "  they's  two  ways  of  gettin'  where  you  want  to 
go.  and  when  you  get  there  they's  two  places  where  you  can  go  to.  The 
road  over  Haley's  Hill  is  the  nearest,  but  it's  so  darn  steep  I'd  about  as 
soon  drive  up  the  side  of  a  meeting-house  steeple." 

"  Then    you'd    rather    go   the    other    road,    I    suppose." 

"Well,    I    do'no' ;     that's    considerable    more    roundabout." 

"  You    can   do    as    you    please,"   said    John.     "  We'll    risk    it,    if  you    will." 

"  I  guess  I'll  go  over  Haley's  Hill,  then.  But  I  reckon  you  fellers'll 
get  shook  up  some.  'Tain't  much  more'n  a  wood-road,  and  they's  washouts 
on  the  downhill  parts  and  bog-holes  where  its  level  that  they've  dumped 
brush  and  stuff  into.  You'll  have  to  walk  up  the  steep  parts.  Don't  you 
want  something  to  eat?"  he  then  asked.  "I  brought  along  a  pocketful  of 
gingerbread,  'cause  I  knew  I  shouldn't  get  home  till  after  dark.  Here," 
and  he  pulled  out  a  handful  of  broken  fragments,  "  better  have  some." 

"Thank  you,"  said  John;  "but  we  had  a  rather  late  lunch  on  the 
cars,  and  I  don't  think  we'll  eat  again  till  we  get  the  tent  pitched.  What 
was  it  you  said  about  there  being  two  places  up  there  we  could  go  to?" 

The    boy    took    a    mouthful    of    gingerbread,    and    when    he    got   the    pro 
cess    of    mastication    well    under   way    he    responded,    "Well,    there's    Jules',    and 
there's    Whitcomb's.     Jules'    is    on     one    side     of    the    brook    and    Whitcomb's    is 
on    the    other.     Jules    is    the    Frenchman,    ye    know." 

"Which    place    is    best?" 


THE    NEW  ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


95 


"  I    do'no'    'bout    that.     Whitcomb's    is    the    nearest." 

<(  We'll    try    the    nearest    place,    I    think." 

"  I  guess  we'd  better  tumble  out  now,"  said  the  boy.  "  We're  gettin' 
on  to  Haley's  Hill,  and  old  Bill's  gettin'  kinder  tuckered.  Hold  on !  don't 
jump  out  now.  I'll  stop  on  the  next  thank-you-marm." 

He    pulled    in    his    steed    just    as     the    wheels    went     over     a    slight     ridge 
that    ran    across    the    road,  and    the    three    alighted.     They  were    in    the    dusk    of 
a    tall    wood    of    beech     and     birches     that    was     almost     gloomy,    so     thick    were 
the    trees    and    so   shut   out    the 
light.      The    road     increased    in 
roughness      and      in      steepness, 
and     finally     the     boy     at     the 
horse's     head     called     out,     "  I 
say,    I    guess   you    fellers    better 
push    behind    there.       Bill    can't 
hardly   move   the   thing,  and    he 
kinder   acts   as   if   he   was    goin' 
to    lay   down." 

The  campers  made  haste 
to    give    their   support,    and    the 
caravan   went   jolting   and    pant- 
ing    up     the     slope     till     the    leader    let    fall     the     bridle-rein     and     announced: 
"There,    we're    over    the    worst    of    it.       Now,    if   I    can    find    a    good    soft    stone 
to    set    on    we'll    rest    a    minute,    and    then    we'll    fire    ahead    again,    and    I'll    get 
ye    to    Whitcomb's    in    less'n    no    time." 

Jimmy  found  a  bowlder  to  his  mind  and  began  to  draw  on  his  stores 
of  gingerbread  again.  The  horse  nibbled  the  bushes  at  the  roadside.  The 
campers  took  each  a  wagon  wheel  and  leaned  on  that  and  waited. 

"  I  guess  we  might  get  in  now,"  said  the  boy,  rising  and  brushing  the 
crumbs  off  his  overalls.  "  It's  pretty  rough  ahead,  but  they  ain't  much  that's 
steep." 

There  were  stones  and  bog-holes  to  jolt  over,  but  after  a  little  they 
came  on  to  a  more  travelled  way,  and  presently  Jimmy  drew  in  his  horse  and 
said,  "  This  is  Whitcomb's  house  right  here.  That's  his  dog  at  the  gate 
barkin'  at  us." 

John    went  to    the    front   door   and    rapped.       He    got    no    response,    and 


A     PASTURE     GATE 


96  THE    NEW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 

concluded  from  the  grasses  and  weeds  that  grew  about  and  before  it  that 
front-door  visiting  was  a  rare  thing  at  that  house.  A  narrow,  flagged  walk 
ran  past  the  corner  to  the  rear.  He  followed  it,  and  in  an  open  doorway 
of  the  L  found  Mr.  Whitcomb  reading  a  paper. 


A      ROAD      BY     THE      STREAM 


"  A  friend  and  myself  would  like  to  camp  over  in  your  pasture  for 
a  few  days,  if  you  don't  object,"  said  John. 

"  All  right,  go  ahead,"  said  the  farmer.  "  If  you  behave  yourselves,  and 
put  up  the  bars  after  ye  so't  the  cows  won't  git  out  I  ain't  no  objections." 

"Thank  you,"  said  John.  "We'll  try  to  do  that.  Have  you  milk  to 
sell?  We'd  like  to  buy  a  couple  of  quarts  or  so  a  day." 

The  man  turned  his  head  toward  the  kitchen.  "  Ann,"  he  said,  "  how 
is  that  —  can  ye  spare  any?" 

A  tall,  thin-faced  woman  came  to  the  door.  She  carried  a  baby  in 
her  arms.  "I  don't  think  we  have  any  milk  to  spare,"  she  replied.  "We 
raise  calves,  because  I  ain't  well  enough  to  tend  to  the  milk  and  make 
butter,  and  they  drink  about  all  we  have.  And  I  have  two  children,  and 
the  oldest  ain't  much  more'n  a  baby,  and  they  have  to  have  some.  We'd 
like  to  accommodate  you,  but  I  don't  see  how  we  can." 


THE    NEU/  ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


97 


"It's  all  right,"  John  replied;  "  \ve  will  find  some  other  place  for  our 
milk  supply." 

He  returned  to  the  team  and  they  drove  through  a  wide,  rocky  mow- 
ing lot  till  they  came  to  a  stone  wall  which  was  without  a  break,  and  en- 
tirely blocked  the  way.  A  pasture  lay  beyond. 

"  The  falls,"  said  Jimmy,  "  are  right  over  in  them  woods  t'other  side 
of  this  pasture.  If  'twasn't  for  this  pesky  stone  wall  I'd  drive  right  over 
there  with  ye.  We'd  'a'  done  better  to  'a'  gone  to  Jules'.  His  place  is  only 
a  little  ways  straight  over  here,  but  it's  a  mile  and  more  by  the  road." 

"  Well,  we've  travelled  far  enough  for  one  day,"  said  Harry.  "  Let's 
get  our  tent  over  into  the  pasture  and  pitch  it  there." 

"Agreed,"  said  John.  "The  sky  has  been  cloudy  all  the  afternoon, 
and  it  looks  more  like  rain  than  ever  now.  I  shan't  feel  easy  till  we  get 
a  roof  over  our  heads." 

The}-  tumbled  their  bundles  over  the  fence  and  made  their  driver 
happy  with  a  half-dollar,  with  which  he  drove  whistling  away.  He,  however, 


AT     THE     PASTURE     GATE 


informed    them    that    "  he    guessed    likely   he'd    get    up    to    see    'em     in     a    few 
days,    if    they    didn't    get    sick    of    camping    before    that    and    clear    out.'1 

The    campers     dragged    their    bundles    over    to    a    low    beech-tree    a    few 
rods     distant,    and     beneath     its    spreading    branches     proceeded    to     erect    their 


98 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 


tent.  Poles  and  pegs  they  cut  in  a  thicket  near  by.  Their  chief  trouble 
\vas  the  lack  of  a  spade  to  make  holes  for  the  end  poles  in  the  hard 
earth.  But  they  made  the  hatchet  do  the  work,  though  the  fine  edge  they 
had  taken  pains  to  put  on  it  before  leaving  Boston  disappeared  in  the 
process. 

After  the  tent  was  up  they  got  their  things  into  it  and  spread  their 
bedding.  The  next  thing  was  to  hunt  up  a  spring  to  serve  as  a  water-supply. 

"  You   get  out  a  lunch,"   said  John,   "  and  I'll  fill  this  tin  pail  with  water." 


THE     SHEEP      PASTURE 


That  was  easier  said  than  done.  He  stumbled  about  in  the  dusk 
over  the  rough  pasture-land  with  its  tangle  of  ferns  and  hardback  bushes,  and 
the  best  he  could  do  was  to  get  a  couple  of  pints  of  fairly  clean  water 
from  a  rocky  mud-hole.  Afterward  he  scooped  the  hollow  deeper  with  his 
hands,  hoping  it  would  soon  fill  with  clear  water. 

At    the    tent    Marry    had    the    lunch    spread    and    had    lit    their    lantern. 

"Do  you  know  what  time  it  is?"  he  asked.  "It's  half-past  eight. 
If  we'd  had  any  farther  to  go  we'd  have  been  in  a  fix.  Is  that  all  the 
water  you  could  get?  I'm  dry  as  a  desert." 

"  I'll  get  more  after  supper,"  said  John.  "  I've  tumbled  half  over  the 
pasture  and  I  can't  find  anything  but  bog-holes." 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


99 


After  eating,  both  went  out,  Harry  with  the  lantern,  John  with  two 
pails.  The  clouds  overhead  had  thinned  and  the  stars  twinkled  through  in 
places.  The  lantern  with  its  two  attendant  figures  went  zigzagging  over  the 
lonely  pasture  waste  to  the  water-hole.  It  had  not  yet  cleared,  but  they 
skimmed  off  enough  with  a  pail-cover  to  slake  their  thirst.  They  did  not 
say  much  as  they  wended  their  way  back  to  the  tent,  but  both  had  the 
feeling  that  camping  out  was  proving  a  rather  severe  experience  of  pioneer- 
ing. 

"  I'm  dead  tired,"  said  Harry,  as  he  flung  himself  down  on  the 
bedding  inside.  "  Let's  turn  in  for  the  night." 

A  few  minutes  later  Farmer  Whitcomb,  glancing  across  the  fields,  saw 
the  soft  glow  of  the  lantern  through  the  canvas  walls  of  the  tent  disappear, 
and  remarked,  "Well,  they  get  to  bed  early  for  city  folks,  but  I've  always 
thought  myself  nine  o'clock  was  about  the  right  time."  He  cleared  his 
throat,  looked  up  to  the  sky  to  get  a  hint  of  to-morrow's  weather  prospects, 
and  went  in  and  locked  the  door.  Soon  his  light,  too,  was  out. 

The  last  sound  the  campers  heard  was  the  wind  fluttering  through 
the  beech  leaves  in  the  tree  above.  It  was  a  great  change  from  the  city 
noises  and  surroundings  with  which  they  were  familiar. 


too  THE    NEW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 

On  the  following  morning  the  campers  were  out  at  sun-up.  Harry 
went  over  to  their  particular  mud-hole  and  succeeded  in  scooping  up  a  pail- 
ful of  \vater,  but  he  had  not  gone  five  steps  before  his  foot  slipped  on  a 
dewy  hummock  and  the  pail  went  flying.  He  returned  to  the  original  source 
of  water-supply,  but  there  was  no  chance  of  getting  more  just  then,  and  the 


HUSKING-TIME 


result  was  he  wended  his  way  across  the  fields  and  filled  his  pail  at  the 
Whitcomb  well-sweep. 

"  It's  no  use,"  he  said  on  his  return,  "  we've  got  to  get  nearer  water. 
If  matters  go  on  as  they've  begun  we'll  waste  half  our  vacation  over  this 
one  thing." 

"  Well,  we'll  look  around  after  breakfast,"  said  John.  "  I've  been 
trying  to  make  a  fire,  but  everything's  so  soaked  with  dew  you  can't  make 
anything  burn.  I  wonder  if  they  always  have  such  dews  up  here.  It's  just 
as  if  we'd  had  a  heavy  rain.  We'll  have  to  get  in  our  firewood  the  night 
beforehand." 

"It's  a  cold  bite  again  this  morning,  is  it?"  said  Harry.  "I  tell  you, 
we've  got  to  study  up  this  matter.  We  must  reform  some  way.  Why,  we're 


THE    'NEW  ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


101 


getting  right  down  to  barbarism.  By  the  way,  how  d'you  sleep  last 
night?  " 

"  First-rate,"  John  replied ;  "  don't  remember  a  thing,  only  I  feel  a 
little  sore  in  spots  this  morning." 

"That's  it,"  said  Harry;  "same  way  with  me.  Feel's  if  I'd  had 
a  good  licking.  Now,  see  here."  He  rolled  down  the  bedclothes  and 
exposed  the  ground.  "  See  those  humps?  There's  a  stone  sticking  up.  Here's 
another.  There's  a  stub  where  some  little  tree  has  been  cut  off,  and  there  are 
several  sticks  and  natural  hummocks  of  the  earth  thrown  in  besides.  Why, 
the  worst  savage,  unless  he  was  drunk,  would  be  ashamed  to  use  such 
a  bed." 

"  Well,"  said  John,  "  let  us  be  thankful  that  we've  come  through  the 
thrilling  experiences  that  we  have  so  far  met  with  alive ;  to-day  we'll  hustle 
around  and  find  a  new  camping-ground,  and  in  the  future  we'll  live  in 
a  style  properly  becoming  to  our  dignity  as  members  of  Bostonian  civiliza- 
tion, etc.  But,  come  now,  you've  been  regarding  that  bed  of  torture  long 
enough.  Trials  past  are  only  so  many  myths  and  shadows.  At  any  rate, 
that's  what  Solomon  or  some  other  wise  fellow  has  said.  What  you  want 


SUNLIGHT     AND     SHADOW 


102  THE    NEW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 

to  do  is  to  fortify  yourself  for  trials  to  come.  Supposing  we  go  over  and 
see  this  Jules  after  breakfast." 

"  I  found  out  how  to  get  there  from  our  landlord  when  I  went  over 
for  water,"  said  Harry.  ''There's  a  side  road  that  leads  down  to  a  little 
grist-mill  just  above  here,  and  at  the  mill  there's  a  foot-bridge  across  the 
stream." 

"  Good !  "  said  John ;  and  after  breakfast  our  campers  went  down  to 
the  mill,  which,  with  the  placid  pond  above,  was  completely  closed  in  by 
the  green  masses  of  the  forest.  It  was  a  gray  little  building,  with  mossy 
shingles,  and  broken  windows  and  doors.  There  were  boards  missing  here 
and  there  from  its  sides,  and  it  was  so  old  and  rude  it  seemed  a  wonder 
it  did  not  slide  down  the  precipice  it  half  overhung.  It  had  not  been 
used  for  some  time  —  that  was  plain.  Below  it  was  a  steep,  irregular  fall 
of  rocks  over  which  thin  streams  of  water  were  tumbling.  Across  the 
ravine,  at  the  summit  of  the  cliff,  was  a  low  dam;  but  it  leaked  badly,  and 
the  water  did  not  reach  its  top  by  some  inches.  Midway  in  the  stream, 
at  the  dam,  was  a  rocky  island  where  grew  a  few  stunted  pines.  A  foot- 
bridge crossed  to  it  from  a  lower  door  of  the  mill.  Thus  it  was  necessary 
to  climb  to  the  top  of  the  island  cliff,  where  another  bridge  swung  high  up 
over  the  narrow  ravine  to  the  farther  shore. 

The  boys  poked  about  the  mill  and  the  pond  for  some  time  and  then 
crossed  the  bridges.  But  they  were  no  sooner  across  than  John  exclaimed, 
"  How  that  thing  did  sway  and  crack !  I'd  walk  ten  miles  before  I'd  cross 
that  rotten  plank  again." 

"  So  would  I,"  said  Harry.  "  It  fairly  made  my  hair  stand  on  end. 
A  fellow  wouldn't  be  good  for  much  after  he'd  tumbled  down  into  a 
ravine  as  deep  and  rocky  as  that,  I  guess.  The  waterfall  must  be  close  by 
here.  I  can  hear  it.  But  let's  hunt  up  Jules  first.  His  last  name  is  La 
Fay,  so  Whitcomb  said." 

A  faintly  marked  path  led  away  through  the  woods,  and  the  two 
followed  it.  Some  distance  beyond  it  opened  into  a  highway.  They  saw 
no  signs  of  habitations,  but  they  followed  the  road  until  they  met  an  ox- 
cart. 

"Can  you  tell  us  where  Mr.  La  Fay  lives?"  asked  John  of  the 
young  man  who  was  guiding  the  slow  team. 

"  Yes,"    said    he,    "  you     take    a    narrer    little     road     that    turns     off    into 


THE     "NEW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


105 


the  woods  clown  here  a  piece.  You  don't  live  round  in  these  parts,  do 
ye?" 

"  No,"    replied    John. 

"  I    don't    belong    around    here    either,    and    I'm    mighty    glad    of    it." 

"Why,    what's    the    matter?"     John    asked. 

"  It's  so  darn  lonesome.  That's  what's  the  matter.  Nothin'  but  woods, 
with  now  and  tnen  a  farm  kinder  lost  in  it.  Nothin'  goin'  on.  Everything 
draggin'  along  slow  as  this  old  ox-team.  I've  hired  out  to  Deacon  Hawes 


for  the  season,  but  I  shan't  stay  more'n  my  time  out.  You're  campin'  up 
round  here,  ain't  ye?  Allen's  boy  brought  ye  up  last  night,  so  I  heard. 
Mebbe  I'll  drop  in  and  see  ye  this  evenin'.  We've  got  some  sweet-corn 
just  ripenin'  down  at  the  place  that  might  taste  good  to  ye." 

The  campers  told  him  they  would  be  glad  to  see  him,  and  said 
that  they  expected  to  be  near  La  Fay's,  at  the  falls.  They  took  the  road 
he  had  indicated.  It  led  through  a  dense  young  forest.  The  trees  inter- 
wove their  branches  overhead  so  closely  that  the  sunshine  with  difficulty 
penetrated  the  foliage  to  fleck  the  damp  depths  below  with  its  patches  of 
light.  A  short  walk  brought  them  out  of  the  woods  into  a  good-sized 


io6 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 


clearing  sloping  down  into  a  wooded  valley.  Down  the  hill  was  a  long, 
squarish  house,  one  end  entirely  unfinished,  and  brown  with  age  and  decay. 
The  rest  had  at  some  remote  period  been  painted  white.  In  front  was  a 
row  of  maples,  beneath  which  a  calf  was  tied.  Opposite  the  house  was  a 
weatherworn  barn,  and  behind  it  a  small  shed  with  a  chimney  at  one  end. 
The  big  barn-doors  were  open,  and  Mr.  La  Fay  was  just  rolling  out  his 
hay-wagon.  He  was  apparently  about  thirty-five  years  of  age  —  a  handsome, 
powerfully  built  man,  square  headed  and  strong  jawed.  He  wore  a  mustache, 
had  dark,  curl}-  hair,  and  a  pair  of  clear,  gray  eyes,  which  looked  straight 
at  one  and  that  held  sparks  which  could  easily  flash  into  fire.  The  boys 
stated  their  errand,  and  La  Fay  told  them  to  choose  any  place  they  pleased 
for  their  tent  and  go  ahead.  He  could  furnish  them  milk,  and  a  horse 
occasionally  if  they  wanted  to  drive. 

"  You  are  close  by  the  falls  if  you  go  over  there  beyond  that  piece 
of  woods,"  he  said ;  "  and  from  our  hill  here  you  can  see  half  the  world." 

He    took    them    out    on    the     ridge     beyond     the    barn.      It    was    indeed    a 


A      MILL     IN     THE     VALLEY 


THE    NEW  ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


107 


Dcautiful  piece  of  country  —  mowing-lots  and  orchards  and  pastures  close 
about,  a  broken  valley  far  below,  where  a  little  stream  here  and  there 
glinted  in  the  sunshine,  and,  bounding  the  horizon,  many  great,  forest-clad 


CLOOO     SHADOWS 


hills.  Here  and  there  were  far-away  glimpses  of  hilltop  villages,  of  which 
La  Fay  gave  them  the  names  and  the  number  of  miles  they  were  distant. 
The  boys  were  delighted. 

"  Now,  the  way  for  you  fellows  to  manage,"  said  Mr.  La  Fay,  "  is 
either  to  take  my  horse  and  wagon  for  your  traps,  or,  if  you  haven't  got 
too  many,  to  lug  them  across  the  stream  down  here.  You'll  find  an  old 
road  and  a  ford  that  you  can  wade  across  a  little  below  the  falls,  if 
you're  not  afraid  of  getting  your  feet  wet." 

"  We'll    try   that   way,"    said    John. 

A  little  yellow  dog  which  had  been  smelling  around  now  began 
barking  over  something  he  had  found  a  few  steps  down  the  hill. 

"  What's    he    got    now,    I    wonder,"    said    La    Fay,    going   toward    him. 


i o8  THE    NEW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 

On  the  grass  lay  the  remnants  of  a  big  turkey,  about  which  the  dog 
•vas  sniffing  excitedly. 

"That's  my  gobbler,"  said  La  Fay.  "A  fox  must  have  got  hold  of 
him  last  night.  Sec,  back  there  where  all  those  feathers  are  scattered  about 
is  where  the  fox  jumped  onto  him.  That's  where  he'd  squatted  for  the 
night.  Well,  I'll  have  that  fox  one  of  these  days.  That  little  dog  can't  be 
beat  for  tracking.  He's  the  best  dog  to  start  up  partridges  or  hunt  rabbits 
or  anything  of  that  sort  you  ever  see." 

The  boys  asked  if  they  might  borrow  a  spade,  and  while  at  the 
barn  getting  it  a  little  girl  came  running  out  to  them  from  the  house.  She 
was  perhaps  eight  or  nine  years  old,  a  stout,  vigorous  little  person,  resembling 
her  father  closely  in  features. 

"  That's  the  young  one,"  said  La  Fay.  "  Have  you  got  the  dishes 
washed,  Birdie?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  and  then  stood  looking  curiously  at  the 
strangers. 

"  She  does  a  good  share  of  my  housework  for  me,"  La  Fay  went 
on.  "  I  do  the  washing  and  the  butter-making  myself,  and  I  get  a  woman 
to  help  once  in  a  while  in  baking  and  mending.  I  can  make  as  nice 
butter  as  any  woman  in  this  county.  Look  at  my  hands.  They're  hard, 
but  they're  smooth  and  clean.  A  farmer's  hands  needn't  be  rough  and 
rusty  if  he'll  only  use  soap  and  water  enough,  and  be  particular  about  it. 
I  work  as  hard  on  my  farm  as  any  man  about  here,  and  I'm  often  up 
half  the  night  blacksmithing,  but  I  don't  believe  there's  a  man  in  the  town 
can  show  such  hands  as  those." 

He  looked  toward  the  girl  once  more  and  continued,  "  The-  young 
one's  mother  ran  away  from  her  home  two  months  ago.  I  never  want  to 
set  eyes  on  her  again.  We  didn't  get  along  over-well  together,  sometimes. 
She  had  a  temper,  and  I  had  a  temper.  I  tell  you,  I  smoke,  and  I  drink, 
and  I  swear  like  the  Old  Nick ;  but  I  don't  steal,  and  I  don't  lie,  and  I  don't 
get  drunk.  Mary  was  like  me,  only  there  were  times  when  she'd  take  too 
much  drink.  Then  she'd  flare  up  if  I  went  to  reasoning  with  her.  The 
week  before  she  left,  she  caught  up  a  big  meat  knife  she'd  been  using 
and  flung  it  at  me  so  savage  that  if  I  hadn't  dodged  quicker'n  lightning 
'twould  have  clipped  my  head,  sure.  It  stuck  in  the  wall  and  the  point 
broke  off.  Well,  I  must  get  to  haying  now ;  but  come  round  to  the  house 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


109 


any  time.  If  Birdie  or  myself  ain't  there,  you'll  find  the  key  to  the  back 
door  behind  the  blind  of  the  window  that's  right  next  to  it.  Go  right  in 
whenever  you  please.  I  know  you  fellows  are  honest.  I  know  an  honest 


A      LOG      HOUSE 


man  when  I  see  him.  I'd  trust  you  with  my  pocket-book  or  anything.  I 
don't  care  what  church  you  go  to,  or  if  you  don't  go  at  all.  I  can  tell 
what  a  man's  made  of  by  his  looks.  There's  some  folks  that  I  wouldn't 
want  to  be  on  the  same  side  of  the  fence  with.  I  tell  you,  money  and 
policy  count  for  a  great  deal  in  this  world.  I  despise  "em." 

He    turned    to    the    little    girl    and    said,     "  Run     in    and    get    your    hat 
Birdie,    we    must    get    in    two    or    three    loads    before    dinner,    if  we    can." 


IIO 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


The  campers  with  their  spade  went  through  the  strip  of  woods  La 
Fay  had  indicated,  and  found  a  pretty  bit  of  pasture  beyond.  The  falls  were 
in  plain  hearing  in  the  ravine  below,  and  they  found  a  little  level  just  suited 
for  the  tent,  and  not  far  away  a  fine  spring  of  clear,  cold  water.  Lastly, 
they  noticed  that  one  corner  of  the  lot  was  a  briery  tangle  of  blackberry 
vines  that  hung  heavy  with  ripe  berries.  This  they  thought  an  undoubted 
paradise  —  every  delight  at  their  tent  door.  First  they  ate  their  fill  of  berries, 


AN     EARLY     SNOW 


and  then  went  down  into  the  hollow.  The  bed  of  the  stream  was  strewn 
with  great  bowlders.  Around  towered  the  full-leaved  trees.  A  little  above 
was  the  fall,  making  its  long  tumble  down  a  narrow  cleft  of  the  rocky  wall. 
The  boys  made  a  crossing  by  jumping  from  rock  to  rock  in  the  bed 
of  the  stream.  Below,  they  found  the  ford  and  the  old  road,  and  went  up 
the  path  and  across  the  pasture  to  their  tent.  It  was  something  of  a  task 
getting  their  traps  over  to  the  new  camping-place,  but  by  noon  the  white 
canvas  was  again  in  place  and  they  had  dinner.  By  aid  of  the  spade,  they 
gave  the  end  poles  of  the  tent  a  firm  setting,  and  they  dug  a  trench  on 
the  uphill  side  of  the  camp  to  protect  them  from  overflow  in  case  of  rain. 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


in 


ON      A      MOUNTAIN      CRAG 


I  will  not  attempt  to  more  than 
catalogue  their  doings  for  the  next  few 
days.  That  afternoon  they  took  a  long 
tramp  to  the  village  to  lay  in  fresh 
food  supplies.  They  returned  at  dusk, 
and  found  the  young  man  whom  they 
had  met  with  the  ox-team  that  morn- 
ing, at  the  tent  door  with  a  bag  of 
sweet-corn.  He  assisted  them  in  mak- 
ing a  fire,  and  they  had  a  grand  feast 
for  supper.  The  next  day,  which  was 
Wednesday,  they  took  a  long  drive 
over  the  hills  to  points  of  interest  that 
La  Fay  told  them  about.  Thursday 
was  reserved  for  a  trouting  expedition. 
Friday  they  drove  over  to  the  Grove- 
land  House  to  see  their  college  friend,  Alliston. 

"  Well,    fellows,"    he    said,    "  how   do    you    like    it? " 

"Splendid!"     said    the    campers;     "we're     having    a    grand,    good    time. 
How    do    you    get    along    here?" 

"  It's  rather  dull  times,  I  think  myself,"  said  Alliston.  "  We  talk, 
and  talk,  and  play 
tennis,  and  have  a 
grand  performance  ev- 
ery day  or  two  over 
a  drive  or  a  clam- 
bake. But  half  the 
time  I  think  we're 
making  believe  we're 
having  a  good  time 
rather  than  really 
ha \-ingit.  I  have 
an  idea,  some  way, 
that  you  fellows  are 
getting  the  best  of 

Jt   "  ONE     OF     THE     GREEN      MOUNTAIN     PEAKS 


112 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


Nearly   every    evening    the     campers     had     callers,     and     in     their    tramps 
and    rides    they    made    many    interesting    acquaintances.       After    lights     were     out 


AMONG      THE      BIG      HILLS 


they  usually  heard  the  sound  of  the  hammer  and  the  wheezing  of  the  bel- 
lows up  at  La  Fay's  little  shop  beyond  the  woods. 

Saturday  morning  came.  The  campers  were  still  in  bed,  but  they 
were  awake.  It  had  been  a  very  hot  night. 

"  Poke  your  head  out,  will  you,  Harry,  and  see  what  the  weather's 
going  to  be,"  said  John. 

Harry  loosed  a  tent  flap  and  looked  out.  "  The  sun's  shining,"  he 
said,  "  but  the  west  is  full  of  clouds  and  looks  like  a  shower." 

"  Well,  let's  not  hurry  about  getting  up.  If  we  take  the  noon  train 
for  Boston  we  shan't  get  home  much  before  midnight,  and  we  may  as  well 
take  it  easy  now." 

They  continued  napping.  Half  an  hour  later  a  gloom  as  of  ap- 
proaching night  settled  down  over  the  landscape,  and  there  was  a  threaten- 
ing grumble  of  thunder  in  the  skies.  The  waterfall  in  the  hollow  took  on 
a  strange  wailing  note,  rising  and  falling  with  the  wind,  and  the  rustling  of 
the  leaves  of  the  near  woods  seemed  full  of  premonitions.  The  air  began 
to  cool  and  little  puffs  of  wind  began  to  blow,  and  the  boys  turned  out 


THE    NEW  ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


113 


and  poked  around  getting  breakfast.  Then  came  some  great  scattering 
drops  of  rain,  followed  by  a  mighty  crash  of  thunder  and  a  dazzling  flash 
of  lightning  that  seemed  to  open  the  flood-gates  of  heaven,  and  the  rain 
came  down  in  sheets.  The  air  took  on  a  sharp  chill,  and  the  boys  got  on 
their  overcoats.  The  wind  increased  in  force  and  shook  the  tent  menac- 
ingly with  its  mad  gusts.  The  flashing  of  the  lightning  and  the  heavy  roll 
of  the  thunder  were  almost  continuous,  and  through  it  all  sounded  the  hol- 
low mourning  of  the  waterfall. 

"  I    tell    you,"    said     Harry,    as     he    sat    crouched    on    a    roll    of    bedding, 
"  I    haven't    much    confidence    in    our    mansion    for    such    occasions    as    this." 

He  had  hardly  spoken  when  something  gave  way,  and  down  came  the 
tent,  smothering  him  in 
wet  canvas.  It  was  some 
moments  before  the  two 
could  disentangle  them- 
selves. They  made  un- 
successful attempts  to  re- 
pair the  wreck,  but  finally 
had  to  be  content  to  prop 
up  the  ridge-pole  so  that 
it  would  shed  the  rain 
from  their  belongings, 
while  they  secured  an 
umbrella  and  scud  through 
the  storm  to  the  house, 
which  they  reached  half 
drenched. 

"  The  young  one  " 
was  sitting  by  the  kitchen 
window.  Her  eyes  were 
dilated  and  she  looked 
frightened.  She  had  her 
hands  folded  idly  in  her 
lap.  That  was  unusual, 
for  she  was  ordinarily 
very  busy.  ^  DESERTED  HUT  IN  THE  WOODS 


ii4  THE    NEW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 

"You    don't    like    these   thunder-storms,    do    you?"   said    Harry. 

Oh,    she    didn't    mind    them,    she    answered. 

"Where's    your    father?"    Harry    asked. 

"  He  went  off  down  to  the  village  before  I  got  up.  I  guess  he  was 
going  to  get  some  flour." 

"  Then    you've    been    all    alone    in    this    storm,"    Harry    said. 

She    did    not    reply. 

A  fire  was  burning  in  the  stove,  and  the  campers  hung  their  wet  over- 
coats behind  it,  and  themselves  drew  chairs  to  the  stove  and  sat  with  their 


CHARCOAL      KILNS 


feet  on  the  hearth.  On  the  table  was  a  pile  of  unwashed  dishes..  From 
the  large  room  next  to  the  kitchen  came  the  sound  of  dripping  water. 
There  was  a  great  pool  on  the  floor  in  one  place,  and  two  or  three  pans 
were  set  about  to  catch  the  streams  trickling  through  the  ceiling. 

"  This  side  of  the  roof  always  leaks  when  it  rains  hard,"  said  Birdie. 
"  Papa's  going  to  fix  it  when,  he  has  time.  I  never  seen  it  rain  like  it 
does  to-day." 

The  shower  was  very  heavy,  but  it  did  not  last  long.  The  clouds 
rolled  away,  and  the  sun  shone  down  on  the  drenched  earth  from  a  perfect 
dome  of  clear,  blue  sky.  Birds  sang,  and  insects  hummed  and  chirruped  in 
the  grasses,  and  the  breezes  shook  little  showers  of  twinkling  water-drops 


THE    NEW  ENGLAND    COUNTRY  115 

from  the  trees.  The  air  was  full  of  cool  freshness  and  sunshine.  It  seemed 
to  give  new  life  and  cheer  to  every  living  creature.  The  campers  were 
quite  gleeful  as  they  ran  over  to  their  tent  after  the  storm  was  well 
past. 

"  We'll  just  hoist  the  ridge-pole  into  place,"  said  John,  "  and  let  things 
dry  off,  and  then  we'll  pack  up." 

The  goods  inside  had  escaped  serious  wetting,  but  they  thought  best 
to  hang  two  of  the  blankets  on  some  neighboring  saplings. 

"  What  a  racket  the  water  makes  down  in  the  gorge,"  said  Harry. 
"  Let's  go  down  and  have  a  look  at  it." 

Everything  was  wet  and  slippery,  and  they  took  off  shoes  and 
stockings  and  left  them  at  the  tent. 

"  I  declare !  "  exclaimed  John,  as  they  approached  the  stream,  "  this 
is  a  big  flood.  There's  hardly  one  of  those  big  bowlders  but  that  the 
water  covers  clear  to  the  top.  How  muddy  it  is !  and  see  the  rubbish !  A 


ROUGH      UPLANDS 


man  couldn't  live  a  minute  if  he  was  to  jump  in  there.  How  it  does  boil 
and  tear  along !  " 

"  Come  on,  let's  go  up  to  the  dam,"  shouted  Harry,  endeavoring  to 
make  himself  heard  above  the  roaring  waters. 

He    clambered    along    over    the     rocks     among    the    trees     on     the     steep 


n6  THE    NEW   ENGLAND    COUNTRY 

bank,  hut  he  had  no  sooner  got  within  seeing  distance  than  he  stopped 
short  and  called  excitedly  to  John  close  behind  him,  "  It's  gone !  It's  gone ! 
The  whole  thing's  washed  away,  —  dam,  and  bridge,  and  mill, — all  gone  to 
smash.  And  sec !  the  gorge  at  the  fall's  all  choked  up  with  big  timbers. 
See  the  water  spout  and  splash  about  'em." 

It  was  a  grand  sight  —  the  mighty  tumble  of  waters  from  the  preci- 
pice above,  foaming  down  into  the  gorge,  then  broken  in  the  narrow,  almost 
perpendicular,  chasm  into  a  thousand  flying  sprays,  whence  the  mists  arose 
as  from  a  monster,  steaming  cauldron.  And  there  the  boys  saw  a  rainbow 
which  they  had  looked  for  in  vain  before.  They  stayed  nearly  an  hour, 
fascinated  by  the  turmoil  of  the  flood. 

"  I  suppose  we've  got  to  think  about  packing  up,"  remarked  John  at 
last,  with  a  sigh. 

"  It's    a     pity    we    can't    stay    around    here    another    week,"    said     Harry. 

They  climbed  slowly  up  the  wooded  bank  to  the  tent,  pulled  it  to 
pieces,  rolled  all  their  belongings  into  snug  bundles,  put  on  shoes  and  stock- 
ings and  went  over  to  the  house.  As  they  approached  they  heard  sounds 
of  angry  dispute.  They  turned  the  corner  at  the  barn  and  stopped.  La 
Fay  was  standing  in  the  kitchen  doorway.  In  the  path  before  him  stood  a 
woman.  She  had  on  a  pretty  bonnet  trimmed  with  gay  ribbons.  Over  her 
arm  hung  a  light  shawl.  Her  face  was  thin,  and  there  were  blue  lines 
beneath  her  burning  black  eyes.  She  stood  sharply  erect. 

"  Move  on !  "  thundered  La  Fay,  "  and  never  show  yourself  here 
again." 

"  It's    Mrs.    La    Fay,"    whispered    Harry.       "  She's    come    back." 

"  Jules  !  Jules !  "  said  the  woman ;  and  then  her  tones,  either  of  excuse 
or  pleading,  dropped  so  low  the  boys  did  not  catch  the  words. 

"  We'd    better    go    back,"    suggested    John. 

"  I  say  I  want  to  hear  no  more,"  Jules  continued  fiercely.  "  The 
quicker  you  get  off  the  premises,  the  better." 

The  woman  looked  at  him  in  silence  a  moment,  then  turned  short 
around  and  walked  with  quick  steps  away.  La  Fay  stood  frowning,  with 
clenched  fists,  in  the  doorway.  In  the  farther  corner  of  the  kitchen  "the 
young  one "  was  crouched  in  a  chair,  crying.  The  boys  had  turned  away, 
but  the  drama  had  come  to  a  sudden  termination  and  they  approached 
again. 


THE    NEW  ENGLAND    COUNTRY  119 

La  Fay  saw  them.  "She's  been  back,"  he  said;  "but  I've  sent  her 
packing  again.  She  came  early  this  morning  while  I  was  away.  She  was 
here  through  the  storm." 

It  was  a  painful  subject,  and  John  hastened  to  say  that  they  had 
packed  up  ready  to  go  to  the  train. 

"  My    horse    is    out    there    by    the    barn    hitched    into  my    lumber-wagon," 


A     PATH      IN     THE 


said  La  Fay,  "  but  I'll  change  him  into  the  carryall.  I'll  be  ready  inside  of 
ten  minutes." 

"  All  right,  then,"  John  responded ;  "  we've  got  a  little  more  to  do  to  our 
bundles,  and  we'll  be  over  there  with  them." 

At  the  edge  of  the  woods  they  looked  up  the  road  leading  away 
from  the  clearing,  and  just  beyond  sight  of  the  house  they  saw  the  woman 
again.  Her  arms  were  about  her  head,  and  she  was  leaning  face  forward 
against  a  big  chestnut-tree.  Once  she  clasped  her  hands  and  gave  a  sudden 
look  upward.  Then  she  resumed  the  former  position. 

The  boys  went  down  to  their  camp  and  did  their  final  packing. 
The  sunshine  was  becoming  warmer.  The  wind  was  blowing  more  briskly, 
and  it  kept  the  grasses  swaying  and  the  leaves  of  the  trees  in  a  perpetual 
glitter  of  motion.  In  the  aisles  of  the  wood  a  thrush  was  chanting  its 


120  THH    NFW   ENGLAND     COUNTRY 

beautiful  song.  From  the  hollow  sounded  the  never-ceasing  roar  of  the 
fall. 

La  Fay  appeared,  bundles  were  packed  into  the  carriage,  and  they 

were  off.  They  had  just  entered  the  road  leading  to  the  highway,  when 

Harry  spied  a  shawl  lying  at  the  foot  of  a  tall  chestnut.  "  What's  that  ?" 
he  asked. 

La  Fay  drew  in  his  horse  and  Harry  jumped  out  and  picked  it  up. 
1  le  handed  it  to  La  Fay. 

"  Why,"    said    the    man,    "that's    Mary's.  She    must    have    dropped    it." 


WINDY      WINTER  — ON      THE     WAY      HOME      FROM      SCHOOL 


He  laid  it  across  his  knee  and  said  nothing  for  a  long  time.  In- 
deed, they  were  more  than  half-way  to  the  depot  before  he  spoke  more. 
Then  he  fell  to  stroking  the  shawl  gently  with  his  right  hand  and  said, 
"Mary  ain't  done  right.  I  know  it;  I  know  it.  Poor  girl!  she's  had  a 
rough  time  since  she's  been  away.  I  don't  know  but  I  ought  to  have  been 
easier  with  her.  And  I  like  her  still  I  don't  get  over  that,  someway.  I 
can't  help  it.  If  the  past  was  blotted  out,  I'd  do  anything  for  her."  He 
spoke  all  this  slowly  and  meditatively. 


THE    NEW  ENGLAND    COUNTRY 


121 


Suddenly  he  straightened  up.  "  Boys,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I'll  blot  out 
the  past  so  far  as  I  can.  I'll  start  new,  if  Mary  will.  I  haven't  been  any 
too  good  myself.  I  know  where  she'll  go  to-day.  I'll  hunt  her  up  on  the 
way  back." 

With  this  resolution  made  he  became  quite  jovial  and  talked  very 
cheerfully  all  the  distance  to  the  depot.  "  Boys,"  said  he,  as  he  shook 
hands  at  parting,  "  I'm  glad  you've  been  up  here.  You're  good  fellows.  I 
like  to  talk  with  you.  Birdie,  I  know,  will  miss  you  a  good  deal,  now 
you're  gone.  She  told  me  only  yesterday,  '  I  wish  Mr.  Clayton  and  Mr. 
Holmes  would  stay  up  here  a  long  time,  so  I  could  learn  to  talk  nice,  the 
way  they  do.'  If  you  ever  get  around  this  way  again  be  sure  to  come  and 
see  Jules  the  Frenchman." 

The  train  rumbled  into  the  station  at  that  moment,  and  the  campers 
hastily  bade  a  last  adieu  and  were  off. 


AFTER     A     STORM 


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